THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


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jl^jyAEa  COLLECTION 


gStMERCOLLE^llSii 


CEDAR  BROOK  STORIES; 


THE  CLIFFOED  CHILDEEN, 


By   a.  S.  M., 

AUTHOR    OF    "OKLY    A    PAUPER,"    KTC. 


FRANK  GONE  TO  THE  WAR 


BOSTON: 
GRAVES     ANr>     YOUNO, 

24      COBKHILL. 

NEW  YORK:  SHELDON  AND  COMPANY. 

CINCINNATI:  GEOKOE    S.  BLANCUARD. 
1   S  G  J  . 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1863, 

Bv  GRAVES  &  YOUNG, 

la  the  Clfrk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Dstrict  of 
Massachusetts. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

TAOS 

TOM  KYAN 7 


CHAPTER  11. 
A  VISIT  FROM  BLIND  LUCY'S  FATHER    . 

CHAPTER  in. 
FRANK'S  VISrr  TO  TOM  RYAN 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WAR,    AND    FRANK'S    DEPARTURE   FOR 
WASHINGTON 


CHAPTER  V. 
EDITH'S  JOURNEY  TO  WASHINGTON    ...         125 


781191 


b  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   VI. 

PAOS 

FRANK'S  DEATH 141 

CHAPTER  Vn. 
CONCLUSION 168 


FRANK 

GONE  TO  THE  WAR. 


CHAPTER  L 

TOM   RYAN. 

"  It  is  very  singular,"  said  Frank, 
a  short  time  after  the  family  returned 
to  Cedar  Brook,  "  that  I  have,  not 
found  the  least  trace  of  Tom  Ryan, 
until  to-day,  since  Bonnie's  death. 
I  have  made  many  inquiries  at  the 
Point,  vrhere  Bennie  said  he  was  liv- 
ing, but  only  ascertained  that  he 
left  a  few  days  prior  to  Bennie's 
death,  — no  one  knowing  whither  he 

went.     I  believe  he  was    concerned 

7 


8  CEDAR    BROOK    STORIES. 

in  some  theft,  and  ran  away  to  es- 
cape detection  I  have  also  watched 
for  him  when  in  Boston,  hoping  to 
meet  him  and  deliver  Bennie's  Bible 
and  dying  message.  This  evening, 
at  Mr.  Scarrett's  request,  I  had  been 
visiting  a  poor  family  at  the  Point  ; 
and  on  my  way  home  was  passing  a 
crowd  of  men  standing  near  the  door 
of  a  German  boarding-house,  when 
my  attention  was  attracted  by  heal- 
ing some  one  say, '  I'll  bet  you  two 
to  one  Tom  Ryan  knows  all  about 
it.' 

"  I  turned,  and  saw  a  short,  thick- 
set, savage-looking  fellow  elbowing 
his  way  through  the  crowd,  and  im- 
mediately recognized  him  as  Tom; 
though   he    was    dressed    in  sailor's 


m 


TOM    RYAN.  9 

clothes,  and  looked  like  a  full-grown 
man.  He  had  not  altered  much  in 
appearance,  except  in  looking  older 
than  when  I  first  met  him  m  Essex 
street ;  and  I  also  recognized  him  by 
the  deep  scar  across  his  forehead, 
and  bis  coarse,  matted  hair,  which 
looked  as  if  untouched  by  comb  or 
brush  for  the  past  three  years 

"  I  hesitated  to  approach,  or  speak 
to  him  then,  as  I  saw  several  of  the 
crowd  had  been  drinking,  and  felt  it 
was  not  the  time  to  speak.  I  stepped 
into  the  doorway  of  a  house  close  by, 
and  waited,  hoping  to  gain  some 
knowledge  by  their  conversation  of  " 
his  present  home  or  haunts.  Their 
conversation  was  low  and  disgusting 
in  the  extreme,  interlarded  as  it  was 


10  CEDAR    BROOK    STORIES. 

with  oaths  and  curses  ;  and  had  I 
not  felt  anxious  to  fulfil  Bennie's  re- 
quest, should  not  have  considered 
myself  justified  in  listening  or  re- 
q^aining  one  moment. 

" '  I  don't  know  the  first  thing 
about  it,'  said  Ryan,  in  reply  to 
some  question.  '  I've  been  ofi"  to  sea, 
I  tell  you,  for  over  two  years,  and  only 
run  ashore  last  night  —  and  intend 
to  keep  on  dry  land  for  the  future. 
I've  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  I  tell  you, 
boys ;  and  hang  me  if  I'll  ever  go  to 
sea  again,  or  think  I  was  cut  out  for 
an  old  salt.  I'd  rather  break  stones 
on  the  highway/ 

"  '  Or  pick  locks  for  a  living,  and 
board  at  the  state's  expense,  said  a 
small,  wiry-looking   fellow,  with    a 

RBC 
NcU 


TOM    RYAN.  11 

dirty  pipe  in    his    mouth,    slapping 
Tom  familiarly  on  the  shoulder. 

" '  You  be  hung  for  a  drunken 
babbler ! '  answered  Tom,  his  face 
dark  with  passion  as  he  doubled  his 
fist  in  the  man's  face.  '  Mind  your 
own  business,  and  I'll  take  care  of 
mine.' 

"  The  wiry  man  drew  back  and  hid 
among  the  crowd  —  the  rest  laugh 
ing  at  his  discomfited  air. 

"  '  I'll  tell  you  what,  boys,'  pursued 
Tom,  '  I've  given  up  the  sea  for  good, 
and  am  going  into  business  on  my 
own  account.  I've  saved  up  a  few 
shiners,  —  enough  to  pay  cash  down 
for  stock  in  trade,  —  and  mean  to 
start  clear.  I'm  tired  of  fights,  and 
getting  drunk,  and  sticky  fingers  — 


12  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

have  marked  out  a  clear  track  for 
myself,  and  mean  to  be  an  honest 
man.' 

"  '  Hip,  hip,  hurrah  !  for  Tom  Ey 
an  ! '  '  Ryan  an  honest  man ! '  '  Hon- 
est Tom!'  'Parson  Tom!'  'Tom 
the  Methodist !  '  '  Praying  Tom  ! ' 
was  shouted,  in  tones  of  scorn  and 
derision,  from  every  man  in  the 
crowd;;  some  taking  off  theii*  hats  in 
mock  homage,  some  pointing  at  and 
hissing  him,  and  some  cursing. 

"As  the  crowd  shouted,  Tom 
roughly  pushed  those  nearest  him 
aside,  sprang  up  the  steps,  and  stood 
in  the  doorway,  with  folded  arms, 
gazing  upon  the  scornful  faces  be- 
low with  a  strange  expression  of 
savage  determination,  and  yet  a  pe- 


TOM    RYAN.  13 

culiar  working  of  the  muscles  of  his 
face,  as  if  an  opposite  feeling  was 
struggling  in  his  breast,  of  a  softer 
nature.  It  seemed  like  what  I  have 
read  somewhere  of  the  struggle  be- 
tween the  powers  of  darkness  and 
the  angel  of  light  for  the  possession 
of  a  man's  soul.  Now,  evil  triumphs, 
and  passions,  fierce  and  strong,  con- 
vulse the  whole  frame  ;  the  face  is 
darkened,  and  the  eye  glares  in  ma- 
niac madness  upon  the  beholder. 
Again,  goodness  and  purity  have  the 
ascendant,  and  tenderness  and  love 
relax  the  features,  tears  moisten  the 
eye,  and  prayer  lingers  upon  the 
lips.  I  thought  of  this  as  I  looked 
at  Tom,  upon  whose  face  the  gas 
light  opposite  shone  full,  revealing 


14  cEDAR    BROOK    STORIES. 

every  feature  and  expression  dis- 
tinctly. 

"  For  full  ten  minutes  he  stood  there 
motionless  as  a  statue,  —  conflicting 
feelings  chasing  each  other  across 
his  features,  his  lip  curled  in  scorn, 
his  eye  flashing,  his  brow  knit  in  a 
dark  scowl  which  rendered  hia  coarse 
features  still  more  repulsive.  Si- 
lenced at  last  by  hi^  silence,  the 
crowd  waited  for  him  to  speak ;  every 
eye  turned  upon  him.  Seeing  he 
had  their  attention,  he  said,  in  a  calm, 
low  voice,  quite  in  contrast  with  his 
usual  loud,  blustering  tone  : 

'^ '  If  youVe  done  with  your  mum- 
mery, boys,  rU  put  in  a  word  or 
two.  You  all  know  I'm  not  given 
to  speechifying  ;   I  can  fight  better 


TOM    RYAN.  15 

than  talk  —  hit  a  man  in  the  ribs 
better  than  argufy ;  so  you  wont  get 
soft  words  or  fine  talk  from  me  ;  that 
ain't  my  fashion.  I  shall  come  to 
the  "point,  and  hit  the  nail  on  the 
head  at  once.  I  do  mean  to  be  an 
honest  man ;  and  you  can  laugh  both 
sides  of  your  mouth,  if  you  choose, 
or  split  your  throats  yelling  like  a 
parcel  of  wild  Indians,  —  that's  not 
m^  lookout.  I  ain't  a  parson,  a 
Methodist,  nor  a  prayer-maker.  I 
havn't  got  any  religion,  and,  what's 
more,  never  expect  to  have  any ;  but 
I've  got  a  mind  of  my  own,  and  in- 
tend to  keep  it.  I  told  you  just 
now  I'd  been  to  sea  for  two  years. 
That  was  the  truth ;  and  the  ship  I 
went  in  had  a  pious  captain  and  offi- 


16  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

cers  or  board,  besides  a  praying  set 
among  the  crew.  But  I  didn't  catch 
any  religion  from  them  ;  for  I  swung 
a  wide  berth  from  the  whole  kit, 
and  never  spoke  unless  I  had  to.  I 
didn't  mind  theh'  preaching,  either, 
but  would  swear  when  I  chose,  if  I 
did  run  the  risk  of  the  cat  and  being 
cut  short  of  my  grub ;  or,  what  was 
worse,  being  talked  to  and  prayed 
over  by  the  captain,  —  who,  somehow, 
seemed  mighty  concerned  about  my 
soul ;  though  I  told  him  if  his'n  was 
safe,  he  needn't  concern  himself 
about  mine. 

"  'Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short, 
one  night  the  biggest  tempest  I  ever 
saw  came  up,  and  all .  hands  were 
stepping  about  lively,  hard  at  work; 


TOM    KYAN.  17 

for  we  were  running  into  the  teeth 
and  eyes  of  the  wind,  which  blew  a 
heavy  gale  —  the  rain  poured  in  tor- 
rents, the  thunder  roared,  and  the 
lightning  flashed  as  if  the  end  of  all 
time  had  come.  I  had  just  been 
aloft  to  reef  the  top-sail,  when  by 
some  chance  my  foot  slipped,  and  a 
plunge  oi  the  vessel  sent  me  over- 
board. 

" '  You  never  heard  the  cry, '  A  man 
overboard!"  did  youl  If  you  had, 
I  reckon  you  would  never  forget  it 
to  your  dying  day.  The  first  time  I 
heard  it,  was  when  Sam  Prentiss  fell 
from  the  mast-head  in  a  storm ;  and 
I  was  one  of  the  crew  that  manned 
the   life-boat    to   his   rescue.      We 

picked  him  up,  but  he  never  spoke, 
2 


18  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

—  probably  struck  some  part  of  the 
vessel  in  falling,  and  never  knew 
what  killed  him. 

"  '  But,  as  I  was  saying  about  my- 
self, I  didn't  strike  anywheres,  but 
was  washed  clean  overboard ;  and 
though  a  good  swimmer,  I  tell  you 
I  never  had  such  a  tug  for  my  life 
before  !  —  and  never,  too,'  said  Tom, 
taking  off  his  hat,  and  wiping  the 
moisture  from  his  brow,  as  he  strove 
to  hide  his  softened  feelings,  '  did  I 
look  -my  life  square  in  the  face  till 
•then.  As  the  great,  black,  swashing 
waves  came  rolling  up,  like  moun- 
tains, before  me,  I  saw  my  whole 
life  writt«i  in  big  letters  on  the  face 
of  them,  staring  at  me  like  a  legion 
of  devils,  or  ghosts   risen  from  the 


TOM    RYAN.  19 

grave  to  torment  me.  I  didn't  feel 
much  like  sivearing  theii !  I  remember. 
I  believe  I  tried  to  pray,  but  couldn't 
make  it  out ;  —  not  a  word  would  my 
lips  utter.  I  wasn't  used  to  the 
business,  and  didn't  know  how.  But 
one  thing  I  did  do,  —  I  vowed  to  my- 
self if  I  ever  reached  the  ship  alive, 
not  a  drink,  or  an  oath,  should  pass 
my  lips  w^hile  my  name  was  Tom 
Ryan  ;  neither  would  I  take  what 
didn't  belong  to  me,  or  help  others 
steal.  Well,  the  upshot  of  the  whole 
is^  my  strength  gave  way,  I  felt  a 
great  rushing  in  my  ears,  and  was 
taking  my  last  drink  of  just  about 
the  saltest  water  I  ever  tasted,  when 
I  was  hauled  aboard  the  life-boat; 
and  the  next  thing  I  knew,    found 


20  CEDAR   13K00K    STORIES. 

myself  stretched  on  the  cabin  floor, 
with  the  captain  and  two  sailors  rub- 
bing me  down,  as  I've  seen  women 
folks  polish  a  mahogany  table.  I 
don't  know  whether  the  rubbing,  or 
the  hot  drink  they  poured  down  my 
throat,  cured  me ;  but  this  I  do  know: 
1  didn't  make  that  promise  for  noth- 
ing. I've  kept  my  word  pretty 
straight  ever  since ;  and  not  a  drop 
of  liquor  or  an  oath  has  run  through 
my  teeth  since  that  night,  —  and  nev- 
er shall,  while  I'm  above  ground,  or 
have  my  senses.  Tin  an  honest  mem 
now,  and  always  mean  to  be ! '  and 
Tom  drew  himself  up  with  a  curi- 
ous mixture  of  pride  and  defiance,  as 
he  looked  around  upon  his  former 
associates. 


TOM    KVAN.  21 

*'  A  suppressed  groan  was  heard 
from  some  one  outside  the  crowd, 
and  a  few  hisses.  Quick  as  light, 
Tom  turned  in  that  direction,  —  his 
eye  flashed,  and  his  face  wore  its 
old  look  of  a  bull-dog  just  ready  to 
spring  at  his  assailant. 

"  '  Mark  me,  boys,  —  I  promised  I 
wouldn't  drink,  nor  swear,  nor  steal ; 
but  I  didn't  promise  I  wouldn't  fight ; 
so  if  any  of  you  have  any  accounts 
to  settle,  I'm  ready.  Just  come  out, 
man-fashion,  and  we'll  go  at  it  fair 
and  square.  But  let  one  of  you  dare 
to  hiss  or  groan  at  me  again,  and 
I'll  let  more  daylight  into  your  brain 
than  you've  bargained  for;'  and  Tom 
held  up  a  fist  like  a  sledge-hammer, 
strong  enough  to  fell  an  ox. 


22  CEDAR   BROOK   STORIES. 

"  Awed  by  his  manner  and  his 
well-known  strength,  there  was  no 
response ;  and  in  a  short  time,  one 
by  one,  the  throng  dispersed,  leaving 
Tom  alone  on  the  step. 

"  Waiting  till  the  last  one  disap 
peared,  he  passed  slowly  down  the 
street,  turning  toward  the  road  lead- 
ing to  Dorchester. 

"  Now,  thought  I,  is  my  opportu- 
nity ;  so,  stepping  from  the  doorway, 
I  followed  him  quietly  some  dis- 
tance, then  quickening  my  steps, 
gained  his  side. 

" '  Good-evening,  Mr.  Ryan,'  I  said 
speaking  as  indifferently  as  I  could. 
'  I  am  glad  to  meet  you :  I  have  been 
on  the  look  out  for  you  for  two  years 
past.     Do  you  live  in  Roxbury  ] ' 


TOM   RYAN.  23 

"  '  Who  the  —  I  mean,  who  are 
yoUj  sir  1  —  I  never  saw  you  before. 
One  of  the  police,  hey  1  " 

"  '  Not  quite,'  I  answered,  lifting 
my  hat.  '  I  am  Frank  Clifford,  —  a 
friend  of  a  former  acquaintance  of 
yours,  and  have  a  message  I  wish 
to  give  you  from  him.' 

"  '  Clifford—  Clifford,"  repeated 
Tom,  — '  I've  heard  that  name  some- 
where. I  remember  your  face  and 
hair,  but  not  where  I've  run  against 
you.  You  say  you're  the  friend  of' 
an  acquaintance  of  mine  ;  —  just 
enlighten  a  fellow,  will  you  "?  Who 
is  he  1  —  what's  his  name  1 ' 

" '  Bennie  Mead.' 

"'Oh,  ho!  ho!  — little  Bennie 
Mead !    I  see  through  it  all  now.     I 


24  CEDAR   13i;00K    STORIES. 

remember  —  he's  living  with  you  — 
run  away  from  Si  Short,  and  followed 
you  home.  "  I'm  living  now  with  a 
gentleman  what  sends  me  to  the 
Sabbath  School ! "  '  imitating  Bennie's 
voice  and  manner.  '  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
the  little  dog!  How  is  the  little 
chit  1  Has  he  forgot  how  to  fight  ] 
Can  he  pitch  head-foremost  into  a 
fellow's  bread-basket,  and  floor  him 
before  he  has  time  to  wink  1  Where 
is  he  r ' 

" '  Where  the  wicked  cease  from 
troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest,' 
I  could  not  help  repeating ;  though 
I  felt  the  words  might  aggravate,  or 
be  thrown  away  upon  a  man  like 
him.  He  was  not  angry,  however  ; 
but    suddenly    stook    still,    laid   his 


TOM    RYAN.  25 

hand  upon  my  shoulder,  and  turned 
me  toward  a  gas  light  we  were  just 
passing,  looking  me  steadily  in  the 
face, —  his  own  face  wearing  a  softer, 
more  human  expression  than  I  had 
ever  seen  upon  it. 

" '  Just  say  that  again,  if  you  dare ! 
—  perhaps  I  didn't  understand  you,' 
he  said,  in  a  quick,  nervous  tone. 

"  I  repeated  the  words,  slowly, 
looking  him  full  in  the  fa«e;  and 
added,  'Bennie  died  in  my  arms, 
Tom,  and  his  last  words  were  a  mes- 
sage of  love  and  forgiveness  to  you/ 
T  then  repeated  Bonnie's  dying  words. 
'  And  here  is  his  Bible,  that  I  have 
carried  in  my  pocket  daily  ever  since 
his  death,  hoping  to  meet  you  and 
give  it  into  your  own  hands,     Take 


26-  CEDAR   BROOK   STORIES. 

it,  Tom  ;  and  may  Bennie's  God  bless 
it  to  you.  Read  it  for  his  sake,  read 
it  for  your  own.  As  I  heard  you 
say  to-night  that  you  promised  God, 
in  the  hour  when  you  was  so  near 
eternity,  sinking  alone  in  the  dark, 
deep  ocean,  that  you  would  neither 
drink,  swear,  nor  steal,  if  he  would 
only  spare  your  life,  so  now  add  one 
more  promise  to  those  you  say  you 
have  f«thfully  kept,  and  tell  me  you 
will  read  this  holy  book  ;  and  not 
only  read,  but  pray  over  it  also,  — 
pray  for  strength  to  do  right ;  to  be 
made  meet  to  join  Bennie  at  last  in 
his  heavenly  home;  and,  till  then 
to  serve  God  as  faithfully  and  thor- 
oughly as  you  have  heretofore  served 
sin  and  Satan.' 


TOM   RYAN.  27 

"  As  I  handed  him  the  Bible,  he 
took  it  almost  reverently,  ojDened, 
closed  it,  and  then,  without  a  word, 
placed  it  carefully  m  his  breast- 
pocket, and  buttoned  his  coat  close 
to  his  throat.  Turning  on  his  heel, 
he  walked  rapidly  forward, — wishing, 
as  I  thought,  to  escape  my  company. 
I  was  hesitating  whether  I  should 
leave  him  without  saying  good-night, 
when  he  stopped  suddenly,  came 
back,  took  me  by  the  arm,  and  asked, 
abruptly,  '  Do  you  see  that  house 
over  there  1 '  " 

"  '  Yes,'  I  answered,  a  little  star- 
tled by  the  abruptness  of  his  question 
and  manner. 

"  '  Well,  I've  got  a  room  there.  It's 
a  poor  place,  but  respectable,  —  only 


28  CEDAR    BROOK    STORIES. 

an  old  man  and  his  wife  in  the  house 
beside  himself.  I've  bought  a  horse 
and  cart,  and  start  to-morrow  ped- 
dling tin  and  wooden  ware.  I  shall 
be  gone  all  the  week,  but  be  home 
Saturday  night,  to  stay  over  Sunday. 
If  you  ain't  too  proud  to  come  and 
see  me  in  my  own  room,  drop  in 
next  Saturday  night,  and  I'll  have  a 
talk  with  you.  I  can't  do  it  now. 
Answer  yes  or  no.  I  don't  want  any 
maybes,  or  perhapses.  Come  then, 
or  come  never,  —  choose  for  your- 
self.' 

-  "  Again  I  marked  upon  his  face 
that  mingled  look  of  fierceness  and 
eagerness,  as  if  the  soul  of  the  strange 
man  had  braced  itself  to  meet  with 
repulse  and  scorn,  while  his  better 


TOM    RYAN.  29 

feelings  were  pleading  for  sympa- 
thy and  help.  Conquering  my  feel- 
ings of  instinctive  aversion,  in  the 
hope  of  gaining  a  right  influence  over 
him,  I  held  out  my  hand,  which 
he  instantly  grasped  in  his,  and 
replied : 

" '  Mr.  Ryan,  I  will  call  at  your 
room  next  Saturday  evening  at  eight 
o'clock,  if  that  hour  will  be  agreea- 
ble to  you.  I  hope  you  will  look 
upon  me  as  a  friend,  who  has  no 
other  object  in  cultivating  your  ac- 
quaintance than  a  sincere  desire  to 
benefit, — and,  it  may  be,  assist  you  in 
carrying  out  your  intention,  so  open- 
ly and  fearlessly  expressed  to-night, 
of  living  henceforth  as  an  honest  man. 
May  every    success    attend    you    in 


30  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

the  business  you  commence  to-mor- 
row ;  and,  believe  me,  I  advise  you 
kindly  when  I  caution  you  against 
keeping  company  in  future  with  the 
evil  set  of  men  I  saw  you  among  to- 
night.' 

" '  Never  fear  for  that,  Mr.  Clifford,' 
Tom  answered,  giving  my  hand  a 
grip  that  made  me  cringe.  '  I've 
swung  clear  of  the  whole  crew ;  and 
they  know  me  too  well  to  trouble 
me,  if  I  choose  to  drop  theu*  company. 
Good-night,  sir.  I  shall  be  on  the 
lookout  for  you  next  Saturday,  — 
come  then,  or  come  never  ! '  —  and 
the  rough  man  lifted  his  hat,  and 
crossed  the  street  to  his  house." 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  trust,  or 
influence  such  a  bad  man  as  he  must 


TOM    RYAN.  31 

be  ]  "  asked  Lulu.  "  I  am  afraid  he 
will  change  his  mind,  refusing  to  see 
you  on  Saturday.  Perhaps  he  may 
insult  you,  should  he  be  in  one  of 
his  ugly  moods." 

"I  have  no  fear  of  that ;  though  I 
must  say  he  is  rather  a  hard  subject 
to  attempt  to  benefit.  His  feelings 
were  somewhat  softened  to-night,  to 
be  sure  ;  but  I  cannot  expect  such 
feelings  to  last.  His  nature  is  so 
rough,  his  whole  life  has  been  so 
bad,  not  to  say  wicked,  that  the  ef- 
fort to  reclaim'  him,  if  not  a  hopeless 
task,  will  at  least  be  a  long  and  dif- 
ficult one.  Men  as  bad,  nay,  worse 
than  he,  have  been"  reclaimed ;  and  I 
will  not  despair,  but  do  what  I  can, 
leaving  the  result  with  God.  —  know- 


32  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

ing  that  all  power  lies  with  him, 
and  he  can  bless  my  efforts  if  he 
chooses." 

"  You  are  right,  Frank,"  said  Win- 
nie. "  Go  on  in  your  good  w^ork  ; 
and  even  the  hardened  Tom  Ryan 
may  become  a  changed  man.  Bennie 
often  talked  to  me  respecting  Tom ; 
and  I  knew  from  what  he  said  that 
Tom  was  homeless  and  friendless, 
like  himself,  and  perhaps  had  never 
experienced  a  kind  word  or  look  of 
interest  in  his  whole  life.  His  home 
was  with  thieves  and  drunkards  ;  his 
education,  that  of  the  street  ;  his 
employment,  only  street-fights  and 
brawls.  He  loved  to  torment  Ben- 
nie, and  provoke  him  to  fight,  but 
in  reality  bore  him   no  malice  ;  for 


TOM   RYAN.  83 

Bennie  told  me,  also,  that  Tom  nursed 
him,  once,  a  whole  week,  when  he  was 
sick ;  and  several  times  stood  between 
hiiii  and  his  drunken  master  when 
he  found  he  was  cruelly  beating 
Bennie  for  refusing  to  steal,  or  beg 
for  money,  to  supply  him  with  rum." 
"  Bennie  told  me  the  same,  auntie ; 
and,  from  what  I  saw  of  Ryan  to- 
night, I  feel  sure  there  is  some  good 
feeling  in  him  still.  I  shall  do  my 
best  to  carry  out  Bonnie's  wishes, 
hoping  some  good  may  be  the  result 
in  the  end.  One  thing  is  certain,  — I 
have  gained  some  hold  upon  him  to- 
night, and  if  I  accomplish  nothing 
else,  I  may  keep  him  from  returning 
to  his  old  associates,  and  encourage 
in  trying  to  do  well." 


CHAPTER  II. 

▲  VISIT  FROM   BlIKD   LUCY'S   PATHBB. 

"  What  a  singular-looking  man 
just  passed  up  the  carriage-road ! " 
said  Annie,  the  next  afternoon,  as 
herself  and  Edith  were  busy  with 
their  sewing,  while  Lulu  read  aloud 
fi-om  a  newly-published  work.  "  Did 
you  observe  him,  Edith] " 

"  No,  I  did  not.     Some  straggler, 

I  suppose,  asking  for  alms.     Bridget 

says  they  are  getting  plenty  as  crows 

in  a  cornfield,   of  late.     She   don't 

complain  now,  as  she  used  to,  that 

'niver  a  bit  of  a  poor  craythur  can 

34 


VISIT  FROM  BLIND  LUCY's  FATHER.     35 

she  find  to  give  the  bits  of  cold  mate 
and  praties  to  —  the  holy  virgin  have 
mercy  upon  their  hungry  stomachs, 
the  poor  things  ! '  "  answered  Edith, 
laughing,  but  without  raising  her 
eyes  from  her  work. 

"  But  he  did  not  look  like  a 
beggar,"  persisted  Annie.  "  He  was 
dressed  well  enough ;  but  appeared 
so  ungainly  and  awkward  I  could 
not  help  noticing  him.  His  beard 
reached  nearly  to  his  w^aist,  his  eyes 
were  black  as  coals,  and  his  eye- 
brows almost  met  over  his  nose. 
He  had  a  valise  in  his  hand,  and 
looked  like  a  countryman  seeking  a 
place  to  put  up  at  for  the  night. 
Hark  !  —  I  really  believe  Bridget  is 
coming  with  him  through  the  hall. 


3G  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

What  can  she  be  thinking  of,  to 
bring  him  in  here  !  '* 

Before  Edith  had  time  to  reply, 
the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  a 
tall,  sunburnt,  rough-looking  man, 
stalked  in,  laid  his  valise  and  a  stout 
cane  on  a  chair  by  the  door,  advanced 
to  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  as  he  rubbed 
his  hands  together  with  an  expres- 
sion of  immense  satisfaction,  while  a 
broad  smile  played  over  his  features, 
displaying  a  set  of  firm,  white,  even 
teeth. 

"  Well,  well,  well !  —  ain't  forgot 
old  friends,  have  you  1 "  he  said,  the 
smile  fading  from  his  face  as  he 
looked  earnestly  at  Edith,  who 
evidently    did   not    recognize    him. 


VISIT  FROM  BLIND  LUCY'S  FATHER.       37 

"  Guess  it's  '  out  of  sight,    out   of 
mind,'  ain't  it  1  Reckon  you've  never 
been  on  the  prairies,  or  heard  tell  of 
Ned  Johnson  and  his  little  blind  gal 
Lucy ! " 

At  that  word  Edith  threw  down 
her  work,  sprang  forward,  and 
clasped  his  great  rough  hand  in  hers, 
—  her  whole  face  beaming  with 
pleasure. 

"  O,  Mr.  Johnson  !  —  how  very, 
very  glad  I  am  to  see  you  !  I  have  not 
forgotten  you,  —  be  assured  I  have 
not,  sir  ;  but  having  no  thought  of 
seeing  you  here,  of  course  I  did  not 
recognize  you  at  first.  Let  me  in- 
troduce you  to  my  sisters,  Annie  and 
Lulu,  —  you  have  heard  me  speak  of 
them.    And  here  comes  mother,  —  she 


38  CEDAR    BROOK    STORIES. 

will  be  glad  to  see  you.  Please  take 
this  arm-chair,  and  make  yourself  at 
home." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you  ;  this  is 
just  as  it  should  be,"  said  Mr.  John- 
son, handing  Edith  his  hat,  and  sink- 
ing back  in  the  arm-chau'  with  a  sigh 
of  relief,  as  he  drew  a  bright  red 
silk  bandanna  handkerchief  from  his 
pocket  and  wiped  the  moisture  from 
his  brow.  "  It  would  have  about 
killed  me  outright,  if  you  hadn't 
given  me  a  welcome,  or  I'd  really 
thought  you'd  forgotten  the  old  man. 
Howsomever,  you've  given  it  now, 
honest  and  true  —  bless  your  sweet 
face  !  and  Ned  Johnson  ain't  the  fel- 
low to  be  tickled  with  fine  words  if 
the  heart  ain't  in  them,  I  tell  you. 


VISIT  FROM  BLIND  LUCY's  FATHER.      39 

You've  got  a  pretty  likely  set  of 
daughters  here,  marm,  "  addressmg 
Mrs.  Clifford,  —  '^  mighty  good-look- 
ing too,  all  of  them.  But  you'll  excuse 
me  if  I  make  the  most  of  this  one, 
and  say  she  is  the  biggest  beauty  of 
the  lot.  You  see  we've  met  before, 
and  are  on  the  footing  of  old  friends. 
Wont  you  kiss  me  ^  "  he  added,  ab- 
ruptly, turning  his  face  towards 
Edith,  who  still  stood  by  his  chair. 
"  1  haint  shaved  to-day,  to  be  sure ; 
but  I  reckon  my  face  is  clean." 

A  merry  laugh  escaped  Edith,  and 
the  color  mounted  to  her  temples; 
but  she  touched  her  lips,  without 
hesitation  to  his  forehead,  and  then 
resumed  her  seat  by  Annie.  Mr. 
Clifford  and  Frank  soon  came  in,  and, 


4U  CEDAR    EROOK    STORIES. 

after  an  introduction,  entered  into 
conversation  with  Mr.  Johnson,  who 
w^as  now  perfectly  at  ease,  and 
amused  them  all  by  his  original 
manner  and  strange  way  of  express- 
ing himself.  Not  an  article  of  fur- 
niture in  the  room  escaped  his  notice; 
neither  had  he  the  least  hesitation 
in  asking  the  price  of  anything  that 
particularly  took  his  fancy. 

After  supper,  Mr.  Cliiford  invited 
him  to  make  his  house  his  home 
during  his  stay,  —  an  invitation  that 
he  accepted  as  frankly  as  he  saw  it 
was  given. 

"  You  see,  squire,"  he  said  to  Mr. 
Cliiford,  at  the  same  time  taking 
from  his  coat  a  mammoth  pocket- 
book,  "  I've  got  plenty  of  the  need- 


VISIT  FROM  BLIND  LUCY's  FATHER.      41 

ful  with  me  to  pay  my  own  way  ; 
can  afford  to  stop  at  any  of  your  tip- 
top hotels,  and  run  the  whole  bill 
of  fare  through,  gimcracks  and  all, 
when  I've  a  good  appetite.  But  I'm 
more  given  to  the  enjoying  a  good, 
social  chat,  than  eating  soups  and 
turkey-fixins.  I'll  be  free  with  you, 
squire :  you  all  seem  so  of  one  mind 
about  my  staying,  I'll  take  you  at 
your  word,  and  try  to  accommodate 
you  for  a  couple  of  days  ;  that  is," 
addressing  Mrs.  Clifford,  "  if  I  don't 
discommode  you,  marm.  You  look 
kinder  peaked  and  sickly  ;  hope  you 
are  not  troubled  with  the  shakes  ]  " 

Frank  bit  his  lips  as  he  glanced 
at  Edith,  who  tried  hard  not  to  laugh 
outright  ;     while    Lulu    was    seized 


42  CEDAR    BROOK    STORIES. 

with  such  a  sudden  fit  of  coughing 
as  forced  her  to  leave  the  room  in 
haste,  much  to  the  concern  of  Mr. 
Johnson,  who  hoped  she  "  hadn't 
got  a  consumption,  or  was  troubled 
with  weak  lungs." 

All  this  time  Edith  had  not  asked 
for  Lucy  ;  neither  had  he  made  any 
allusion  to  her,  except  when  he  first 
entered  the  room.  Several  times 
she  had  attempted  to  speak  of  her ; 
but  a  nameless  dread  checked  the 
inquiry,  and  she  spoke  of  other 
things.  Feeling,  at  last,  that  Mr. 
Johnson  must  think  her  silence  very 
strange,  she  ventured  to  say : 

"  You  have  not  spoken  of  Lucy, 
Mr.  Johnson  —  is  she  well '?  I  should 
so  love  to   see  her,  again !    I   have 


VISIT  FROM  BLIND  LUCY'S  FATHER.      43 

never  forgotten  her,  or  the  pleasant 
visit  I  made  at  your  house.  Do  tell 
me  of  her." 

Mr.  Johnson  instantly  covered  his 
face  with  his  handkerchief,  great 
sobs  heaving  his  breast  as  he  rocked 
to  and  fro,  without  speaking,  mak- 
ing strong  efforts  to  suppress  his 
tears.  Edith  at  once  comprehended 
the  whole  sad  truth,  and  with  in- 
stinctive delicacy  drew  her  chair 
close  to  him,  and  took  his  hand  in 
her  own.  A  painful  silence  reigned 
in  the  little  circle,  broken  at  last  by 
Mr.  Johnson,  as  he  uncovered  his 
face  and  replied : 

"  I've  got  no  little  Lucy  now  :  my 
little  blind  gal  is  sleeping  soundly  by 
her  mother's  side,  under  the  green 


44  CEDAR    BROOK    STORIES. 

grass  and  bright  flowers  of  the  prai- 
rie. I  dug  their  graves  with  my 
owa  hands,  in  that  same  lot  where 
you  saw  those  two  white  steers  and 
the  young  colt.  You  remember  how 
Lucy  fed  the  colt,  and  how  the 
young  critter  seemed  to  know  she 
was  blind, — following  her  round  thfi 
field,  and  resting  his  Jiead  on  her 
shoulder  when  she  stopped,  and 
looking  kinder  sorrowful,  as  dumb 
animals  will  sometimes  ]  " 

"  I  remember  it  all,  sir.  How 
long  was  Lucy  sick  1  —  what  was  the 
cause  of  her  death  ]  " 

"  Well,  not  anything  in  particular. 
She  kinder  pined,  and  faded,  and 
grew  weak,  till  there  wasn't  nothing 
of  her  left.     She  looked  for  all  the 


VISIT  FROM  lJLINi>  LUCY's  FATHER.      45 

world  like  a  white  rose  I've  seen 
hangiii":  from  a  broken  stem,  —  all 
wilted,  and  drooping,  and  homesick. 
But  she  never  complained,  never 
said  she  was  sick,  never  spoke  of 
herself.  She  would  sit  quiet  all  day 
weaving  her  little  baskets,  or  knit- 
ting socks  for  me  to  sell  in  Alton,  — 
her  little  fingers  looking  like  wax, 
and  her  hands  so  thin  you  could 
almost  see  through  them.  Some- 
times she  would  sing  softly  to  her- 
self, or  say  over  hymns  she  had 
learned,  or  repeat  verses  from  the 
Bible  as  straight  as  a  string,  not  miss- 
ing a  single  word  in  a  whole  chapter  ; 
—  I  know  that ;  for  I've  taken  the 
Bible,  when  she  asked  me,  and  fol- 
loAvcd  her  along  to  see  if  she  said  it 


46  CEDAR    BllOOK    STORIES. 

right ;  and  I  never  knew  her  to  fail 
once.  Every  night,  when  I  got 
through  my  work,  she  used  to  come 
and  creep  into  my  lap,  lay  her  head 
on  my  bosom,  and  talk  to  me  about 
heaven,  till  I'd  be  all  melted  down, 
like  a  child.  She  seemed  to  know 
all  about  the  place,  —  how  it  looked, 
and  w^hat  folks  did  when  they  got 
there.  She  said  the  streets  were  all 
gold,  and  there  were  gates  made  out 
of  big  pearls,  and  trees  full  of  fruit, 
and  nobody  was  sick,  or  sorry,  or 
blind  ;  but  everybody  was  happy  and 
joyful,  and  full  of  praise  and  glory. 
She  explained  it  all  so  clear  to  me, 
that  I  began  to  think  considerable 
about  it  myself ;  and  sometimes  when 
I  was  out  working:,  I'd  stand  stock- 


-17 

still,  and  look  right  up  to  the  sky, 
and  try  to  realize  there  was  a  heaven, 
like  what  she  told  of,  up  above  the 
clouds,  and  that  my  poor  blind  Lucy 
was  going  there,  and  I  should  be  left 
all  alone.  It  was  mighty  hard  to 
feel  this,  I'm  free  to  say ;  but  a  good 
deal  harder  to  say  I  was  willing  to 
give  the  child  up  !  I  couldn't,  some- 
how, do  that;  neither  could  her 
mother,  for  a  long  while.  It  ener- 
most  killed  me  to  say,  '  Thy  will  be 
done,'  as  Lucy  often  made  me  repeat 
after  her  when  she  talked  of  dying, — 
or  going  home,  as  she  called  it ;  just 
as  if  she  was  here  on  a  visit.  Her 
mother,  who  was  a  real  good  woman, 
and  joined  the  Methodists  just  after 
you  left  that  summer,  got  reconciled 


48  CEDAR    BllOOK    STORIES. 

to  the  parting  with  Lucy  before  I 
did,  and  tried  to  brace  me  up  by  say- 
ing all  the  comforting  words  she 
could,  and  trying  to  smile  and  look 
cheerful.  Would  you  believe  it  ]  — 
after  our  child  was  laid  out,  her 
minister  rode  over  to  see  us,  and 
talked  and  prayed  with  us  both ; 
and  when  he  went  away,  my  wife 
said  right  out,  as  brave  as  could  be, 
though  I  knew  she  felt  bad  all  the 
time,  '  The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord 
hath  taken  away :  blessed  be  the 
name  of  the  Lord  ! '  That  hinder 
staggered  me.  I  knew  I  hadn't  got 
so  far  as  to  say  that.,  though  I  didn't 
dare  to  murmur  against  the  Lord 
for  taking  her,  —  that  would  never 
do.     I  didn't  want  to  find  anv  fault. 


VISIT  FROM  BLIND  LUCY'S  FATHER.      49 

but  I  couldn't  really  bless  the  Lord 
for  taking  my  one,  only  pet  lamb, 
and  leaving  me  childless  and  alone ) 
It  was  a  dreadful  hard  case,  squire ' 
turning  to  Mr.  Clifford,  whose  mois- 
tened eye  evinced  his  sympathy  with 
the  bereaved  father.  "  If  I'd  only 
had  other  children,  as  you  have  got, 
they  might  have  helped  fill  up  the 
gap  in  my  heart,  and  I  could  have 
held  up  my  head,  and  kept  on  for 
their  sake.  Trouble  never  comes 
single,  you  know,  sir ;  —  I've  found 
that  true  in  my  experience.  One 
year  after  I  buried  my  Lucy,  my 
wife  took  sick,  and  died  of  bilious 
fever ;  and  I  was  left  stark  alone  — 
not  a  wife,  or  child,  or  relative  in  the 
whole  world.     I  was   a  poor,  lonC;, 


50  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

miserable  man,  you  may  guess,  — 
just  like  a  tree  cut  down  to  the  roots ; 
branches  and  leaves  all  gone ;  noth- 
ing but  the  old  stump  remaining  ; 
not  a  twig  or  stem  left  for  a  bird  to 
sing  or  build  a  nest  upon  !  The  old 
place  looked  dreadful  desolate  and 
dreary.  I  tu*ed  of  listening  all  day 
for  my  blind  child's  voice,  or  my 
wife's  footsteps  ;  so  I  sold  my  farm, — 
all  but  the  little  spot  I've  fenced 
round  their  graves,  —  put  part  of  my 
money  in  the  bank,  and  took  the  rest 
and  started  off  to  see  the  world,  and 
visit  my  little  miss  here.  My  Lucy 
loved  her,  and  talked  of  her  every 
day  while  she  lived." 

"  And  I  have  never  forgotten  her,' 
said  Edith,  wiping    away  her  tears. 


VISIT  FROM  BLIND  LUCY's  FATHER.      51 

"  It  is  from  my  visit  that  day  to 
Lucy,  that  I  date  my  first  serious 
determination  to  become  a  Christian ; 
and  whenever  I  feel  indifferent  or 
conscious  of  being  remiss  in  duty,  her 
sweet,  sightless  face  rises  before  me, 
and  I  see  her  slender  finger  pointing 
upwards,  and  hear  her  soft  voice  say- 
ing, '  We  will  meet  there,  wont  we  ? '" 

"  Th^i  she  told  you  she  shouldn't 
live '?  "  said  Mr.  Johnson,  quickly. 

"  Not  exactly  in  so  many  words  ; 
though  I  understood  her  meaning, 
as  she  spoke  so  solemnly  of  our 
meeting  '  there ; '  and  I  judged  she 
was  anxious,  at  the  time,  not  to  pain 
you  by  referring  to  the  subject  in 
your  presence." 

While  Edith  was    speaking,  Mr. 


52  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

Johnson  drew  out  his  pocket-book, 
and  took  from  it  a  little  package 
which  he  handed  to  her,  saying : 

"  When  you  said  good-by  to  Lucy, 
you  remember  you  put  a  gold  ring 
upon  her  finger]  Well,  that  ring 
never  left  her  finger  till  she  died. 
Her  poor  hand  grew  so  thin  that  it 
became  a  world  too  large  for  her ;  so 
she  asked  her  mother  to  tie  a  bit  of 
thread  to  it  and  fasten  it  round  her 
finger,  so  it  should  not  slip  off  and 
be  lost.  \Vhen  she  died  I  took  it 
from  her  finger,  and  cut  off  a  lock  of 
her  hair,  —  thinking  maybe  I  might 
see  you  again,  and  you'd  set  by  it. 
seeing  it  was  Lucy's." 

"  I  shall  value  it  beyond  price, 
sir,"  said  Edith,  unfolding  the^papei 


VISIT  FKUM  LLINL>  LUCV's  FATnEll.       53 

and  taking  from  it  a  long  lock  of  soft, 
glossy  hail",  and  also  the  ring,  which 
she  placed  upon  her  own  finger, 
with  the  resolve  it  should  never  be 
taken  off  during  her  life. 

Edith  had  many  questions  to  ask 
respecting  Lucy,  and  Mr.  Johnson 
dwelt  long  upon  the  last  hours  and 
words  of  his  lost  child,  —  his  lonely 
heart  finding  relief  in  the  unfeigned 
sympathy  of  Edith  and  her  whole 
family. 

At  the  hour  of  retiring,  he  shook 
hands  warmly  with  each  one,  thanked 
them  for  their  kindness,  and  added, 
in  his  homely,  but  expressive  way : 

"  You've  done  me  a  heap  of  good 
in  listening  to  my  troubles,  and  let- 
ting me  talk  so  free  of  them  that's 


54  CEDAR   BROOK   STORIES. 

dead  and  gone.  If  any  of  you  ever 
come  to  sorrow,  you  may  reckon 
there  is  one  heart  in  this  world  that 
will  be  the  heavier  for  your  grief. 
To-morrow  I  shall  be  myself  again  ; 
and  not  rile  you  all  up  with  my 
troubles,  but  leave  my  wife  and 
child  in  their  quiet  graves  upon  the 
prairie,  to  rest  till  I'm  laid  by  them." 

The  next  morning  Edith  accom- 
panied Mr.  Johnson  to  Boston,  as  he 
expressed  at  the  breakfast-table  a 
desire  to  see  the  city,  but  seemed 
rather  fearful  of  getting  lost  in  the 
"  snarl  "  of  its  crooked,  narrow 
streets,  should  he  venture  to  find 
his  way  alone. 

"  I  can  track  my  way,  miles  and 
miles,  across  a  prairie,  and  bring  up 


VISIT  FROM  BLIND  LUCY'S  FATHER.      55 

standing  just   where  1  choose,"  he 
said  ;  '  but  you  city  folks  have  such 
a  fashion  of  making  your  shops  and 
houses  all  alike,  and  running  your 
streets  here,  there,  and  everywhere, 
like  the  criss-cross  lines  in  a  spider's 
web,  that  111  be  toasted  if  it  don't 
take   a  cuter  brain  than  a  lawyer's 
to  know  what  part  of  creation  you 
are  in!     Yesterday  I  inquired    my 
way  three  times.    The  last  time,  the 
fellow  behind  the  counter  snickered 
right  in  my  face,  and   said,  '  Look 
here,  stranger,  —  I  guess  you're  given 
to  travelling  in  cii'cles ;  for  this  is  the 
third   time  within    an  hour  you've 
been  in  here,    and  asked   the  same 
question  I  If  you'll  justkeep  straight 
ahead,  as    I    told    you    to    the  first 


56  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

time,  and  not  turn  either  to  the  right 
hand  or  the  left,  you'll  find  Rox- 
bury  before  sundown."  I  felt  kinder 
cheap,  and  gave  a  good  look  round 
the  store ;  and  I  vow  it  did  look 
considerable  natural ;  so  I  reckon  the 
fellow  was  right,  and  I  had  turned 
up  some  plaguy  street  or  other,  and 
come  back  three  times  to  the  place 
I  started  from  !  " 

"  Why  didn't  you  take  an  omni- 
bus, or  the  horse-cars,"  said  Edith, 
laughing,  "  there  are  plenty  of  them 
running  to  Roxbury,  every  half-hour 
during  the  day.  The  driver  would 
have  left  you  ^vithin  a  mile  of  our 
house,  and  given  you  directions  how 
to  find  it." 

"  Oh,    confound    your    cars    and 


VISIT  FROM  BLIND  LUCY's  FATHER.      57 

coaches !  —  I  had  enough  of  them 
commg  oil  here.  My  feet  were  ijiade 
to  use,  and  so  were  my  boots.  When 
I'm  on  my  feet  I  know  where  I  am ; 
but  when  I'm  on  a  boat  or  the  cars, 
I'm  likely  to  find  myself  nowheres  ! 
Bilers  and  injines  have  an  ugly 
habit  of  busting  up,  just  as  you've 
got  yourself  fixed  to  your  mind,  and 
sending  a  fellow  further  than  he 
bargained  for  in  starting,  —  and  no 
extra  charge  for  damages  !  Give  me 
a  good  pair  of  calf-skins,  built  like 
these,  and  they  can  be  depended  upon, 
—  even  if  you  do  travel  far  enough 
to  need  two  soles  to  one  upper !  " 

Edith  smiled  as  she  looked  at  the 
stout  pedal  coverings  of  the  old  man, 
and  thought  they  were  indeed  "built'* 


58  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

for  service  rather  than  beauty  —  re- 
qiiiiing  the  strength  of  a  hardy  back- 
woodsman to  wear  without  fatigue. 

As  he  seemed  to  have  no  particu- 
lar business  to  transact,  excepting 
the  purchase  of  some  shirt-collars  and 
a  plaid  silk  neck-tie,  but  appeared 
rather  anxious  to  see  the  "  shows " 
he  had  heard  people  talk  about 
who  came  from  the  East,  Edith  went 
with  him  to  the  Athenaeum  and  the 
Museum.  He  was  quite  delighted 
with  both  places;  rather  preferring 
the  Museum,  —  particularly  interest- 
ed in  the  zoological  and  ornithological 
departments,  many  species  in  each 
being  familiar  to  him.  The  shells 
and  minerals,  he  said,  were  pretty 
enough,   but  he   liked  the    animals 


VISIT  FROM  BLIND  LUCY'S  FATHER.      59 

better,  —  all  except  the  giraffe  : 
"  that,"  he  said,  "  was  too  unnatural 
for  anything ;  —  the  Lord  nevel 
stretched  a  poor,  dumb  beast's  neck 
that  length,  he  knew  !  It  wasn't  in 
the  nature  of  things  for  a  critter's 
head  to  grow  six  feet  beyond  his 
stomach,  unless  he  was  intended  for 
a  walking  lighthouse  for  all  other 
beasts  to  steer  clear  of  Boston 
folks  might  be  up  to  some  things, 
but  they  missed  their  mark  when 
they  fixed  up  that  critter  to  impose 
on  strangers !  " 

"  Are  you  fond  of  music  %  "  asked 
Edith,  after  they  had  dined.  "  There 
is  a  rehearsal  at  the  Academy  of 
Music,  this  afternoon,  and  if  you 
like,  we  will  go  there  ;  perhaps,  as 


60  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

the  music  is  all  instrumental,  you 
might  enjoy  it." 

"  Well  —  no  —  not  exactly.  I  do 
like  to  hear  a  good,  rousing  sing  at 
a  camp-meeting ;  but  I  don't  incline 
much  to  your  tooting  horns  and  fid- 
dles, —  they  always  make  me  head- 
achy, and  down  at  the  heel." 

"  Suppose,  then,  we  take  a  walk 
round  the  Common,  and  you  look  at 
some  of  the  fine  houses  on  Beacon 
street,  —  old-fashioned,  to  be  sure, 
many  of  them  are,  but  still,  the  resi- 
dences of  some  of  our  merchant- 
princes,  and  looked  upon  with  pride 
by  many  Bostonians." 

Walking  slowly  through  the  sev- 
eral malls,  Mr.  Johnson  amused 
Edith,    and    sometimes    passers-by. 


VISIT  FROM  BLIiND  LUCY'S  FATHER.      61 

with  his  characteristic  remarks  and 
undisguised  admiration. 

"  Now  this  is  what   I  call  sensi- 
ble ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  stood  still 
in   one    of  the  broad  avenues,  and 
looked  up  to  the  great,  interlacing 
branches  of  the  noble  elms  on  either 
side,  and  then   acrooss  the  smooth, 
green  plats  of  grass,  intersected  by 
neatly   kept   gravel-walks,    crowded 
with  a  living  panorama  of  men,  wo- 
men, and  joyous,  trooping  children, 
"Then  you  have  got  one   place  in 
town  where   you  can   draw  a   long 
breath  without  swallowing  a  whole 
block    of    bricks    and    mortar  1     I 
should  think  some  of  your  rich  men 
would  want  to  step  in  and  buy  the 
middle  lot  there,  close  by  that  duck- 


62  CEDAR   BROOK   STORIES. 

pond,  and  put  up  a  house,  if  it  wasn't 
for  nothing  else  than  to  see  how  a 
house  would  look  standing  alone, 
without  a  whole  eternity  of  windows 
and  doors  each  side  of  it.  I'd  do  it 
the  first  thing,  if  I  thought  of  set- 
tling here  any  time." 

Well  satisfied  with  his  view  of 
the  city  and  its  ^'  lions,"  Mr.  Johnson 
returned  to  Cedar  Brook  for  another 
night.  Early  the  next  morning,  with 
a  hearty  grasp  of  the  hand,  that 
almost  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of 
the  children,  he  bade  them  all  good- 
by,  promising  to  call  again  should 
he  ever  come  that  way. 

"  It  ain't  much  likely  I  shall  come 
this  way  very  soon  ;  —  there's  too 
many  houses,  and  considerable  more 


VISIT  FROM  BLIND  LICY'S  FATHER.       G8 

people  here  than  suits  my  taste.  I 
feel  all  cornered  up  and  pinched  for 
room  ;  I  want  more  sky,  and  a  big- 
ger patch  of  green  earth  than  you've 
got  in  these  parts.  I've  heard  tell 
of  Pike's  Peak,  and  think  strong  of 
making  a  call  in  that  region,  before 
I  settle  down  again.  Maybe  I'll 
bring  up  at  Californy.  They  do  say 
that's  a  taking  place^  and  perhaps  I 
shall  try  that  a  spell.  At  any  rate, 
when  I  make  up  my  mind,  Fll  get 
you  word  somehow ;  then  if  any  of 
you  should  have  a  travelling  fit, 
you'll  find  me  at  home  and  glad  to 
see  you.  If  I  only  knew  any  safe 
hand  coming  on  this  way,  I'd  send 
you  on  that  colt,  miss.  Nobody  has 
ever  rid  on  him  yet,  and  he  is  rather 


64  CEDAR   BROOK   STORIES. 

wild  ;  but  you  might  tame  him,  after 
a  while.  I've  no  use  for  him  ;  but  I 
hate  to  sell  the  poor  dumb  critter, 
seeing  I  was  training  him  for  Lucy. 
I'd  rather  you  should  have  him,  and 
maybe  I'll  send  him  on." 


FRANKS    VISIT    TO    TOM    KYAN.  —  E- 


CHAPTER  in. 

prank's  visit  to  TOM   RYAN. 

"  I  MUST  fulfil  my  promise  to  Tom," 
said  Frank  to  his  mother,  as  he  fin- 
ished cutting  a  bunch  of  flowers  and 
laid  them  upon  the  rustic  seat  beside 
her.  "  It  is  fifteen  minutes  past 
seven,  and  I  promised  to  be  at  his 
room  by  eight.  I  wish  to  be  punc- 
tual to  the  time  appointed ;  for  there 
was  that  in  his  looks  and  decided 
tone  as  he  repeated,  '  Come  then,  or 
come  never,'  that  assured  me  he 
would  brook  no  excuse  for  delay." 

A  brisk  walk  soon  brought  Frank 
6  65 


66  CEDAR   BROOK   STORIES. 

in  sight  of  the  house  pointed  out  to 
him  by  Ryan  as  his  present  home. 
He  scanned  the  building  closely  as 
he  drew  near,  and  was  glad  to  see, 
that,  though  old  and  out  of  repair, 
it  looked,  as  Tom  said,  respectable  ; 
the  premises  being  much  neater  in 
appearance  than  that  of  others  in 
the  vicinity.  Knocking  at  the  door, 
it  was  opened  by  a  neat,  pleasant- 
looking  woman  of  some  sixty  years 
old,  who,  in  reply  to  Franks  ques- 
tion, "  Does  Mr.  Ryan  live  here  1 " 
said,  kindly : 

"  Yes,  young  master  ;  please  walk 
up  stau's.  You'll  find  him  in  his 
room,  —  the  first  door  to  the  right." 

Following  her  directions,  Frank 
ascended  the  uncarpeted  stairs,  and 


Frank's  visit  to  tom  uyan.       67 

found  Tom  standing  at  his  door,  his 
looks  expressive  of  pleasure  at  the 
sight  of  Frank,  though  he  merely 
said,-  in  his  usual  abrupt  tone  : 

"  Come  in,  sir.  I  thought  you 
would  come.  It's  just  on  the  stroke 
of  eight.  Take  a  chair  here  by  the 
windovr ;  the  night  is  warm." 

As  Frank  entered,  an  ugly-look- 
ing mastiff  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  growling  and  showing  his 
teeth,  with  the  evident  intention  of 
disputing  his  right  of  crossing  his 
master's  threshold.  Tom  immedi- 
ately gave  him  a  kick  that  sent  him 
howling  under  the  table. 

"  Take  that  for  your  manners, 
sir !  Don't  you  know  friends  from 
foes?     Wait,  next  time,   till   I  tell 


68  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

you  to  show  your  teeth,  or  I'll  bieak 
every  bone  in  your  body.  Good  dog 
that,  su',"  he  added,  by  way  of  apol- 
ogy, as  Frank  uttered  a  protest 
against  his  brutality.  "  Worth  his 
weight  in  gold  for  a  watch-dog, — 
always  takes  care  of  my  cart  when 
I'm  busy  —  is  about  the  best  friend 
I've  got.  But  dogs  are  dogs,  and 
like  you  all  the  better  for  giving  'em 
a  good  kick  now  and  then  :  they 
expect  it,  and  always  carry  a  hang- 
dog look  if  they  don't  know  who's 
master." 

As  Tom  spoke,  Frank  glanced 
round  the  room.  It  was  of  good 
size,  the  floor  bare,  but  clean ;  its 
two  windows  shaded  by  dark  blue 
calico  curtains.    The  cot-bed  in  the 


Frank's  visit  to  tom  hyan.       69 

corner,  covered  with  a  patchwork 
spread,  a  painted  pine  table,  two 
chairs,  a  sailor's  chest,  and  a  rude 
model  of  a  schooner  upon  a  small 
light-stand,  constituted  the  furniture. 
A  faint  attempt  at  decoration  was 
shown  in  some  cheap,  colored  prints, 
without  frames,  pasted  upon  the 
walls,  and  two  large  conch  shells 
on  the  hearth  in  front  of  the  fire- 
board. 

Tom  noticed  Frank's  hasty  glance, 
and  said,  with  an  air  of  pride,  as  he 
pushed  back  his  coarse,  ill-kept  hair 
from  his  brow : 

"Hope  you  like  the  looks  of 
things  1  You  see  I've  gone  into  the 
housekeeping  business  quite  nat'ral 
like  ;  —  own  all  the  traps  you  see ; 


70  CEDAR   BROOK   STORIES. 

bought  them  all  with  honest  money ; 
got  no  fear  of  the  police  on  my  track. 
The  old  woman  down  stau's  cooks 
the  vittles,  and  I  fork  over  the  solid, 
every  Saturday  night,  for  room-rent 
and  board.  It's  an  awful  pity  Ben- 
nie  run  aground  before  I  was  settled ; 
for  I  was  calculating  strong,  all  my 
voyage  home,  on  taking  the  boy  and 
bringing  him  up  myself  I  could 
have  made  him  useful  in  my  busi- 
ness ;  and,  when  he  got  a  little  big 
ger  we'd  have  gone  shares  in  profits 
and  stock  in  trade,  —  maybe  set  up 
two  carts,  and  doubled  our  circuit." 
"  Very  likely ;  but  he  is  better  pro- 
vided for  now,  Tom ;  though  1  am 
glad  to  understand  by  what  you  say 
that  you  really  felt  no  ill-will  toward 


71 

him.  **He  was  a  bright,  affectionate 
little  fellow.  We  all  became  much 
attached  to  him,  and  mourned  his 
death  deeply." 

"  Yes,  yes,  —  I  know  you  did.  He 
told,  himself,  about  your  taking  to 
him ;  and  I  was  glad  you  didn't  send 
him  adrift,  as.  many  a  one  would 
have  done  in  your  place.  I  did  like 
to  punch  him  when  I  had  a  chance, 
or  dare  him  to  fight ;  for  I  liked  the 
fun  of  getting  him  mad,  and  seeing 
him  spunk  up  when  I  called  him 
names !  But  it's  holy  truth,  sir,  I 
really  did  set  by  that  boy,  and 
wouldn't  have  cared  to  hurt .  him 
much;  though  I  liked  to  keep  my 
hand  in,  by  flooring  a  fellow  when- 
ever I  had  a  chance,  and  somehow 


72  CEDAR   BKOOK   STORIES. 

run  against  him  pretty  often.  After 
he  lived  with  you  he  was  meeker 
than  Moses,  and  I  couldn't  get  him 
up  to  the  mark  nohow ;  so  I  give  him 
a  chance  to  rest ;  for  I  begun  to  feel 
streaked  having  the  fun  all  to  my- 
self, seeing  I  couldn't  rile  him  up 
noways.  What  sickness  did  he  die 
of?  "  he  asked,  abruptly,  after  a  mo- 
ment's silence.  "  I'd  like  to  know 
all  -the  particulars." 

In  as  few  words  as  possible  Frank 
related  all  the  circumstances  connect- 
ed with  Bennie's  accident,  sufferings, 
and  death,  —  dwelling  particularly 
upon  his  peaceful  state  of  mind,  and 
his  last  message  and  care  for  Tom, 
As  he  repeated  Bennie's  words,  the 
rough  man  leaned  his  head  upon  the 


table,  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 
He  neither  spoke  or  moved  when 
Frank  ceased  speaking,  but  remained 
motionless  as  a  statue. 

Hardly  knowing  whether  it  was 
best  to  add  any  advice  or  comments 
of  his  own,  Frank  also  remained  si- 
lent, until  his  eye  rested  on  Bennie's 
Bible  lying  upon  the  window-sill  neai 
Tom.  He  reached  over  his  shouldei 
for  it,  opened  it  and  slowly  read 
passages  from  the  Old  Testament,  the 
Psalms  and  the  gospels,  —  words  of 
exhortation  and  entreaty  to  sinners  ; 
promises  for  the  penitent ;  assuran- 
ces of  God's  love  and  mercy ;  and 
the  account  of  Christ's  sufferings  and 
death  for  man's  redemption. 

Tom  evidently  gave  strict  attention. 


74  CEDAR   BROOK   STORIES. 

though  he  gave  no  outward  signs  ex- 
cept occasionally  drawing  a  heavy 
sigh,  sometimes  uttering  almost  a 
groan.  As  Frank  closed  the  book, 
Tom  raised  his  head,  and  reached 
out  his  hand  for  the  Bible,  and  care- 
fully placed  it  in  his  vest  as  he  had 
done  a  few  evenings  before.  It 
seemed  to  Frank  as  if  he  looked 
upon  it  more  as  a  kind  of  talisman 
that  would  convey  some  good  by  the 
touch  alone,  than  as  a  fountain  of 
life,  from  which  he  could  draw  heal- 
ing to  his  soul,  or  as  a  guide  to  teach 
him  the  right  path  to  heaven. 

"  Do  you  read  yourself  in  Bennie's 
Bible,  Tom  1  "  Frank  ventured  to 
ask,  as  Tom  still  showed  no  disposi- 


Frank's  visit  to  tom  ryan.       75 

tion  to  speak.  "  It  was  his  request 
that  you  should." 

"  Aye,  aye,  —  you've  told  me  that 
already,  sn*.  I've  not  looked  into  it 
much  yet,  but  intend  to  some  rainy 
Sunday.  I'm  no  great  reader,  was 
never  much  given  to  learning,  and 
am  too  old  to  fret  much  about  it 
now." 

"  Would  you  object  to  join  a  class 
in  the  Sabbath  school  1  There  is  one 
established  here  at  the  Point,  and  I 
should  be  very  glad  if  you  would  at- 
tend. I  am  acquainted  with  some  of 
the  teachers  and,  if  you  say  so,  will 
call  for  you  to-morrow^  and  introduce 
you  to  a  gentleman  that  I  think  you 
will  like  as  a  teacher." 

"Couldn't   do   it,  su\     I'm  nine- 


76  CEDAR    BROOK    STORIES. 

teen  years  old,  but  look  as  if  I  was 
twenty-five,  and  don't  fancy  being 
made  a  laughing-stock  by  a  parcel 
of  young  'uns.  I  cry  quits  for  any 
game  like  that !  " 

"  But  the  scholars  are  not  all 
children,  Tom :  the  school  is  for  all 
who  will  come,  old  and  young.  You 
will  find  plenty  there  of  your  own 
age  to  keep  you  company,  and  need 
have  no  fear  of  ridicule,  —  at  least, 
from  those  who  attend  the  school ; 
they  are  too  much  interested  them- 
selves for  that.  As  to  any  of  your 
former  associates,  I  should  judge, 
by  the  decided  stand  you  took  the 
other  night,  that  you  cared  very 
little  for  their  opinion.  I  hope  they 
would  not  hinder  you." 


Frank's  visit  to  tom  ryan.       77 

"  No,  sir ;  it's  little  I'd  care  for  the 
mind  of  that  thieving,  drunken  set. 
I  know  them  like  a  book,  and  nary 
a  soul  of  them  v^ould  dare  wag  his 
tongue  against  Tom  Ryan,  if  he 
chose  to  bid  them  be  silent.  It's  not 
them  I'm  caring  for,  nor  the  laugh- 
ing, nor  the  school ;  but  I'll  tell 
you  the  plain  truth  now,  I  don't 
incline  much  to  religion.  I  can  get 
along  very  well  without  it,  for  I'm 
an  honest  man,  sir !  —  I  have  been 
ever  since  I  took  that  midnight  bath 
in  the  salt  water  over  twelve  months 
ago.  Some  folks  are  born  to  be  re- 
ligious. Bennie  was,  —  kinder  took 
to  it  in  the  natural  way ;  and  I'm 
glad  he  did,  seeing  the  Lord  didn't 
intend  to  have  him  grow  up.    When 


78  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

folks  are  ordained  to  die  little  shav- 
ers, like  him,  it's  rather  a  consoling 
thing  to  have  religion  —  especially  if 
they  get  their  legs  broke,  as  he  did : 
it  makes  them  think  less  of  their 
pains  and  aches,  and  keeps  them  on 
the  lookout  for  a  fair  haven,  and  a 
new  rig  for  the  old  hulk  when  the 
storm  is  over.  You'll  excuse  me, 
sir;  but  I've  studied  this  thing  all 
out  since  I  saw  you,  and  when  I'm 
ready  to  be  a  serious-minded  man, 
and  jine  the  church, I'll  let  you  know; 
but  you  needn't  spoil  your  eyes  in 
keeping  much  of  a  lookout  for  that 
at  present !  The  land  isn't  in  sight 
yet  where  I  shall  cast  anchor  and 
cultivate  piety  for  a  living  !     I'm  in 


-.^ 


Frank's  visit  to  tom  uyan.       79 

the  peddling  business,  and  mean  to 
stick  to  that." 

Frank  could  not  suppress  a  smile 
at  Tom's  homely  bluntness,  while  he 
felt  it  would  be  of  no  use  to  pursue 
the  subject  further  at  present.  With  a 
character  and  disposition  like  Tom's, 
he  must  act  cautiously,  striving,  first 
of  all,  to  gain  his  confidence  by  evinc- 
ing a  friendly  interest  in  his  daily 
occupation  and  welfare  —  hoping,  in 
time,  to  exert  an  influence  over  him 
for  better  things. 

As  he  rose  to  go,  he  held  out  his 
hand,  saying : 

"  Well,  Tom,  I  have  felt  gratified 
with  my  visit  here  this  evening, 
and,  if  you  will  allow  me,  shall  call 
again  before  long.     I  wish  to  assure 


80  CEDAR  BROOK   STORIES. 

you  of  my  interest  in  your  welfare  — 
not  only  for  Bennie's  sake,  but  also 
for  your  own.  If  I  can  be  of  service 
to  you,  in  any  way,  let  me  know. 
If  you  feel  disposed  to  call  upon  me 
in  my  own  home,  I  shall  give  you  a 
welcome  as  kind  as  you  have  extended 
to  me  to-night." 

"  Thank  you,  su\  Come  any  Sat- 
urday or  Sunday,  and  you'll  be  wel- 
come. I'm  not  given  to  visiting 
gentle  folks,  nor  stepping  round  in 
fine  houses.  He  and  water  wont 
mix,  and  Tom  Ryan  and  soft  carpets 
wouldn't  know  each  other,  —  one  or 
t'other  of  'em  would  come  off  the 
worse  for  the  acquaintance ;  so  I 
guess  I  shall  steer  clear  of  all  fool- 
ery, and    stay   at   home.     You   can. 


Frank's  visit  to  tom  ryan.        83 

come  here,  and  not  be  hurt  by  the 
mixmg.  I'll  keep  to  my  own  house, 
and  you'll  find  an  open  door  and 
hearty  welcome  whenever  you  choose 
to  come." 

As  we  may  only  refer  to  Tom 
Ryan  again,  we  will  say  now,  that 
Frank  continued  his  visits  to  Tom, 
at  short  intervals,  for  several  years, — 
always  welcomed  with  gruff  hearti- 
ness, and  always  listened  to  with 
respect  by  Tom,  even  when  he  urged 
upon  him  the  duty  of  repentance 
and  prayer,  or  expressed  his  earnest 
wish  to  see  him  a  Christian. 

But  Tom  still  held  to  the  belief 
that  "  honesty "  was  all  that  he  re- 
quired to  "  pass  him  along,"  as  he 
expressed  it,  through  this  world,  or 


82  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

to  fit  him  for  the  next.  "  ReligioI^ 
is  well  enough  for  some  folks,"  he 
said,  "  but  I  don't  need  it  —  at  least 
while  I'm  in  the  tin  and  wooden 
ware  trade.  When  I  give  that  up, 
and  retire  into  private  life,  I'll  look 
into  the  thing  and  see  what  is  to  be 
made  of  it ;  and  if  I  think  it  suit? 
my  case,  I'll  try  a  little  of  it,  just  t< 
see  how  it  works ! " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WAR,   AND  FRANK'S  DEPARTURE  FOR 
WASHINGTON. 

Ten  years  have  passed  since  our 
first  call  at  Cedar  Brook,  when  we 
introduced  our  young  friends,  the 
Cliffords,  to  our  readers.  Come  with 
me  to-day,  and  we  will  see  if  any 
changes  have  taken  place  in  their 
home. 

It  is  the  last  of  June,  1861,  and 
Cedar  Brook  is  somewhat  altered  in 
appearance.  The  house  has  been 
enlarged  by  a  wing  upon  the  south- 
ern side,  and  a  broad  piazza  extends 

83 


84  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

across  the  front.  The  prairie-rose 
is  replaced  by  a  luxuriant  woodbine, 
that  nearly  covers  the  end  of  the 
wing,  and  is  trained  across  the  pi- 
azza, hanging  in  graceful  festoons 
its  entire  length.  The  grounds  are 
unaltered,  except  by  the  growth  and 
denser  foliage  of  the  trees  and 
shrubs. 

Entering  the  front  gate,  we  miss 
our  little  Pep :  he  died  three  years 
ago,  and  was  buried  by  Peter,  at 
Edith's  request,  in  one  corner  of  the 
grounds.  Passing  over  the  lawn, 
and  stepping  upon  the  piazza,  we 
find  in  his  place  a  large  Newfound- 
land, lying  by  the  front  door.  He 
watches  us  closely  as  we  approach, 
but  does  not  move  until  we  stoop  to 


FRANK   JOINS   IHE   ARMY.  85 

pat  his  head  ;  he  then  rises  and 
stands  by  our  side,  rubbing  his  great 
head  against  our  hand,  as  if  giving 
us  a  welcome  as  guests  of  his  mas- 
ter. 

We  find  all  the  family  in  the  sit- 
ting-room, as  before,  with  the  addition 
of  Elliot  Wentworth  and  our  old 
friend  Mr.  Scarrett.  Mrs.  Clifford  re- 
clines in  the  arm-chair —  pale,  thin, 
and  evidently  in  a  confirmed  con- 
sumption. The  last  year  has  greatly 
altered  her  in  appearance ;  but  her 
face  is  lovely  still,  her  smile  sweeter 
than  ever.  Beside  her  sits  Lulu — her 
head  resting  on  her  mother's  shoul- 
der, her  eyes  fixed  upon  Frank,  who 
is  seated  at  the  piano  playing  one 
of  Beethoven's  symphonies.     Lulu  is 


86  CEDAR    BROOK- STORIES. 

Still  the  pet  of  the  family — cheerful, 
happy,  loving,  —  still  reminding  one 
of  a  beautiful  rosebud,  with  her  fair 
complexion,  and  rich  full  tint  upon 
cheek  and  lip.  We  can  hardly  real- 
ize that  she  is  nearly  fourteen  years 
old. 

Beside  Frank  stands  Edith,  Elliot, 
and  Annie  —  all  somewhat  changed, 
but  easily  recognized.  Edith  has 
altered  the  least.  She  is  still  petite 
in  form,  but  more  slender  than  when 
a  child  ;  wears  her  hair  in  its  short, 
natural  curls,  without  confinement 
by  comb  or  net;  is  still  quick,  ner- 
vous, full  of  fun,  but  not  thought- 
less or  heedless  as  of  old.  Annie  is 
more  quiet,  if  possible,  than  ever  — 
as  thoughtful  and  painstaking.    Her 


FRANK   JOINS    THE    ARMY.  87 

mother's  health  has  rendered  it  ne 
cessary  for  her  to  assume  the  office  of 
housekeeper,  —  an  office  that  accords 
well  with  her  own  tastes,  and  which 
she  fills  with  satisfaction  to  all.  She 
is  never  idle ;  and  even  now,  as  she 
stands  by  Frank,  is  mending  a  pair 
of  gloves  for  her  father. 

Mr.  Clifford  sits  by  Winnie  at  the 
window,  a  paper  in  his  hands.  But 
he  is  not  reading  :  his  eyes  are 
closed,  and  a  look  of  sadness  is  on 
his  face  we  have  never  seen  there 
before.  Mr.  Scarrett  looks  very  old 
and  feeble  ;  his  hair  is  white,  his 
form  bent  and  trembling.  His 
clasped  hands  rest  upon  the  head  of 
his  cane ;  his  face  is  turned  toward 
Frank ;  his  eyes  are  dim  with  tears. 


88  CEDAR    BROOK    STORIES. 

Why  is  there  such  unwonted  sad- 
ness resting  upon  all  the  faces  of 
that  little  group] 

There  are  none  missmg  from  their 
circle.  All  are  in  health,  excepting 
the  dear  mother  —  and  she,  they 
had  long  known,  was  passing  gently, 
but  surely,  to  the  land  of  rest.  But 
none  of  them  have  ever  suffered 
that  thought  to  shade  their  brows, 
or  cloud  their  faces  in  her  presence. 
They  have  all  striven  to  be  cheerful 
and  hopful  when  with  her,  —  talking 
freely,  when  she  desired  it,  of  her 
nearness  to  her  heavenly  home,  and 
communing  together  of  that  heritage 
of  light,  that  glorious  abode  beyond 
the  tomb,  where  mists,  and  clouds, 
and  doubt  will  be  withdrawn  forever. 


FRANK   JOINS   THE   ARMY.  89 

Why,  then,  are  they  all  so  sad  to- 
night '?  —  all  but  Frank,  upon  whose 
face  there  rests  an  expression  of 
happiness  and  peace,  almost  of  in- 
spiration, as,  with  a  master-hand,  he 
plays  the  soul-thrilling  chords  of  the 
great  composer. 

Ah !  it    is   from   the  same   cause 

• 

that  has  sent  sadness  and  sorrow 
into  thousands  of  happy  homes 
throughout  our  land  !  Civil  war,  with 
all  its  horrors,  had  burst  upon  us. 
The  startling  news  of  the  attack  on 
Fort  Sumter  had  called  forth  the 
noble,  generous,  most  cherished  sons 
of  our  country,  to  defend  her  rights 
upon  the  battle-field.  The  call  of  the 
President,  on  the  fifteenth  of  April, 
1861,  for  seventy-five  thousand  volun- 


90  CEDAR    BROOK   STORIES. 

teers  for  three  months'  service,  was 
fully  responded  to ;  and,  with  his 
father's  consent,  Frank  immediately 
joined  a  drill  company.  This  company 
was  accepted,  united  to  a  Massachu- 
setts regiment,  and  on  the  following, 
morning  Frank  expected  to  leave 
Cedar  Brook  for  the  seat  of  war. 
What  wonder,  then,  that  there  were 
heavy  hearts  and  tearful  eyes  in  that 
Jaome-circle  1 

The  only  son,  the  only  brother, 
would  leave  them  on  the  morrow 
for  scenes  of  bloodshed,  strife,  and 
death.  Would  he  return  again  to 
that  peaceful  home?  Hoiv  would 
come  ] — with  the  free,  bounding  step 
of  health  and  strength,  or  wounded, 
maimed,  lifeless  1  No  wonder  that  his 


FRANK   JOINS   THE   ARMY.  91 

gentle  mother  wept  silent,  bitter  tears 
as  she  asked  herself  the  question. 
Her  days  were  indeed  numbered. 
Could  she  endure  the  thought  that  he 
would  not  be  by  to  close  her  eyes,  or 
comfort  his  father  and  sisters  when  she 
was  gone  1  His  father  —  how  could 
he  spare  the  son  upon  whom  he  had 
hoped  to  learn  in  his  declining  years  I 
That  son  might  be  sleeping  in  death, 
when  he  should  be  still  hale  and  vig- 
orous. His  sisters,  all  loving  him 
with  a  depth  of  affection  that  only 
a  noble-hearted,  affectionate  brother 
like  him  could  inspire  —  how  could 
they  live  without  him  ?  —  how  go 
forth  into  the  world  if  he  was  not 
by  to  encourage  and  strengthen  ? 
Even  Mr.  Scarrett  felt  that  death 


92  CEDAR   BROOK   STORIES. 

would  be  divested  of  half  its  terrors, 
could  that  boy's  bright  face  be  near 
him  in  the  last  dread  conflict.  Win- 
nie bowed  her  head  upon  her  hands, 
and  prayed  that  the  dearest  of  all 
her  sister's  childi-en,  next  to  Edith, 
might  l^e  spared  to  return  unharmed 
to  them  all.  Oh !  it  was  a  hard, 
bitter  struggle  with  each  one !  Yet, 
with  the" true,  noble  heroism  of  the 
mothers  and  sisters  of  our  loved 
country,  they  never  thought  of  dis- 
suading Frank  from  his  purpose  — 
never  pleaded  their  own  love,  of  de- 
pendence upon  him,  as  a  reason  for 
his  remaining  at  home.  From  the 
very  flrst  announcement  of  his  inten- 
tion to  join  the  army,  they  had  not 
held  him  back,  but  bade  him  '  god- 


FRANK   JOINS   THE   ARMY.  93 

speed*  and  blessed  him, — his  father 
only  cautioning  him  against  deciding 
upon  his  course  too  hastily,  he  being 
yet  a  minor,  and  of  course  exempt 
from  duty  if  he  chose  to  remain  at 
home.  "  If  you  feel  that  God  and 
your  country  call  you,  my  soit,"  said 
Mr.  Clifford,  "  I  will  not  discourage 
or  prevent  your  enlisting,  or  with- 
hold my  consent  because  you  are 
under  age.  Seek  to  know  your 
duty,  prayerfully ;  and  if  you  feel 
there  is  need  of  your 'services,  go  — 
and  the  God  of  battles  go  with,  pro- 
tect, and  bless  you." 

"  Come,  Edie,  darling  —  let  us  sing 

once  more  our  favorite  song,"   said 

Frank,   as   he   reached   a  piece   of 

music   from    the    stand  beside  him. 

( 


94  CEDAR   BllOOK    STORIES. 

"  It  will  be  sometliing  to  cheer  me 
to-morrow,  when  I'm  away,  if  I  re- 
call your  sweet  voice  and  the  words 
of  the  song  we  have  sung  so  often. 
Will  you  try  ]  " 

Edith  involuntarily  covered  her 
face  wifH  her  hands,  and  a  half-sup- 
pressed cry  of  pain  escaped  her  lips. 
Annie  turned  very  pale,  but  she 
gently  placed  her  aim  round  Edith's 
waist,  and  whispered : 

"  Control  yourself,  for  his  sake, 
dear  Edie.     Sing  if  you  can." 

Edith  immediately  raised  her  head, 
though  her  lips  quivered,  and  her 
whole  frame  trembled  like  an  aspen- 
leaf  Frank  appeared  not  to  notice 
her  agitation ;  though  his  fingers 
trembled,  as  he  ran  them  over  the 


FKANK   JOINS   THE   ARMY.  95 

keys  for  several  minutes  in  prelude, 
giving  her  time  to  become  calm  and 
self-possessed  ere  they  commenced. 

The  song  was  an  old  one,  and  is 
familiar  to  most  persons  —  has  un- 
doubtedly been  sung  by  many  lov- 
ing, aching  hearts  on  the  eve  of 
separation ;  and,  in  sadness  and  tears, 
they  too  have  asked  the  question, 
"  When  shall  we  meet  again  ?  " 

A  glance  at  Edith  told  Frank  she 
was  now  equal  to  the  elFort ;  and, 
striking  a  few  chords,  they  sang  — 

"  When  shall  we  two  meet  again  ?    I  am  going 
Far  from  the  home  where  my  loved  ones  remain. 

Like  those  pale  lights  down  tlie  Nile  gently  flowing, 
I,  too,  rr.ny  fade  and  return  not  again ! 

But  though  broad  realms  and  the  ocean  divide  ua, 
Shall  we  not  ever  be  present  in  thought  ? 

And  when  the  sweet  voice  of  friendship's  denied  us, 


96  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

With  dreams  of  the   past  shall  our   memories  he 
fraught  ? 
Distance  may  part  us,  but  nothing  can  sever 
Hearts,  that,  like  ours,  are  united  forever! 
Ever  in  absence  we'll  constant  remain  : 
Sister  and  friend,  when  shall  we  meet  again  ^ 
When  shall  we  two  meet  again  1 

"  Who  will  now  tend  to  ray  birds  and  my  flowers  ' 

Sing  me  at  evening  some  sweet  olden  rhyme  ? 
Never  again  will  diose  once  happy  hours 

When  we  two  wandered  together,  be  mine  : 
Yet  we  shall  meet  though,  it  may  be  in  spirit, 

When  cold  is  this  hand  that  I'm  clasping  in  thine  ; 
For  we  know  there's  a  land  that  the  pure  may  inherit, 
And  I,  in  my  vigils,  still  pray  may  be  mine. 
Distance  may  part  us,  but  nothing  can  sever 
Hearts,  that  like  ours,  are  united  forever  ! 
Ever  in  absence  we'll  constant  remain  : 
Sister  and  friend,  when  shall  we  meet  again  ? 
When  shall  we  two  meet  again  ? " 

As  the  last  sound  of  their  voices 
died  away,  Mrs.  Clifford,  whose 
strength  was  not  equal  to  the  con- 


FRANK   JOINS   THE   ARMY.  97 

trol  she  had  placed  upon  her  feelings 
thus  far,  sank  famting  in  the  arms 
of  Lulu,  and  was  carried  by  Mr. 
Clifford  and  Frank  to  her  chamber. 
"  Do  not  remain,  my  son,"  said  Mr. 
Clifford  ;  "  it  will  be  better  for  you 
to  take  leave  of  your  mother  now : 
another  fainting-fit  like  this  would 
be  of  serious  consequence  to  her. 
She  is  recovering  slowly  ;  shorten 
the  pang  of  parting,  and  do  not  agi- 
tate her  if  you  can  avoid  it." 

AVith  tears  streaming  down  his 
face,  Frank  bent  over  his  mother, 
pressed  his  lips  to  her  pale  lips  and 
cheek  and  brow,  murmuring,  "  O ! 
my  precious  mother  !  God  keep  you 
till  my  return,  and  grant  that  we 
mav  meet  airain.     I  cannot  sav  fare- 


y»  CEDAR   BROOK   STORIES. 

well !  Bless  me,  mother  !  —  let  your 
lips  once  more  bless  your  only  son." 

With  a  gentle  sigh,  Mrs.  Clifford 
opened  her  eyes,  and  drew  Frank's 
head  to  her  bosom,  —  her  feeble 
hands  smoothing  his  curls  and  ca- 
ressing his  face,  as,  years  ago,  she 
had  done  when  he  lay  a  helpless 
babe  upon  her  breast. 

"  Yes,  my  son ;  T  do  bless  you,  again 
and  again.  May  God  keep  you  in 
the  day  of  battle  ;  be  a  shield  be- 
tween you  and  danger  ;  let  not  your 
enemies  triumph  over  you  ;  save  you 
to  be  the  light  of  your  boyhood's  home 
once  more  ;  the  comforter  of  your 
father,  the  protector  of  your  sisters, 
when  I  am  gone — 'But  nevertheless, 
not  my  will,  but  thine,  O  Lord,  be 


FKANK   JOINS   THE   ARMY.  99 

done ! '  If  you  should  be  called 
home  to  God  first,  Frank,  I  feel  you 
will  not  watch  long  for  me.  I  am 
even  now  close  by  the  shore  of  eter- 
nity, —  can  almost  hear  the  plashing 
of  its  waves  as  they  come  nearer  and 
nearer  around  my  feet.  There  seems 
but  a  step  between  me  and  death ; 
and  oh  that  you  could  be  here  to 
comfort  me  in  that  last  hour  !  But 
no  !  no  !  — not  my  will !  Kiss  me,  my 
child,  my  son,  my  darling  boy  !  Re- 
ceive your  mother's  blessing,  and 
may  the  God  of  Israel  guard,  guide 
protect  you." 

One  long,  silent  embrace,  and 
Frank  rose  from  his  knees  beside 
his  mother,  and  hurried  from  the 
room.     He  did  not  return  to  the  sit- 


100      CEDAR  BROOK  STORIES. 

ting-room  till  he  was  calm  again, 
and  all  traces  of  tears  eiFaced.  Here 
another  parting,  from  Mr.  Scarrett 
and  Elliot,  sorely  tried  his  manliness, 
and  forced  Annie  and  Edith  to  leave 
the  room  to  hide  their  feelings. 

Once  more  alone,  the  little  circle 
drew  closer  together,  —  Edith  and 
Annie  each  side  of  Frank,  and  Lulu 
at  his  feet,  while  Mr.  Clifford  opened 
the  sacred  volume,  and  read  from 
its  holy  pages  words  of  comfort, 
faith,  and  hope.  Gradually  its  sooth- 
ing promises  fell  like  healing  balm 
upon  their  troubled  hearts  ;  and 
when  he  closet},  the  volume,  and  they 
all  knelt  with  him  in  prayer,  a  sense 
of  repose,  of  resignation  to  God's 
will,  of  a  renewed  power  of  endur- 


FRANK   JOINS   THE   AllMY.  101 

ance,  took  the  place  of  anguish  and 
sorrow,  and  enabled  each  one  to  join 
audibly  with  Frank,  as  his  father 
closed  his  petitions,  in  repeating  the 
Lord's  prayer,  in  clear,  firm,  unfal- 
tering tones. 

As  they  rose  from  their  knees,  Mr. 
Clifford  took  both  of  Frank's  hands 
in  his  own,  and,  with  streaming  eyes 
and  faltering  lips,  blessed  and  bade 
him  good-by.  One  more  silent  em- 
brace, one  earnest  look  into  each 
other's  faces,  one  strong  grasp  of  the 
hand,  and  father  and  son  separated, 
to  meet  —  where  1 

It  was  Frank's  request  that  all 
should  take  their  leave  of  him  that 
evening  —  that  none  should  accom- 
l^any  him  in  town  the  next  morning. 


102  CEDAR   131100K    STORIES. 

when  he  was  to  join  his  regiment. 
"  I  cannot  say  good-by  at  the  depot," 
he  said.  "  I  must  not  feel  unmanned 
at  startmg.  Let  all  the  sad  scene 
of  parting  be  within  my  own  home. 
I  wish  no  eyes  to  look  upon  my 
grief  in  the  hour  of  separation  from 
those  I  love.  I  must  weep  on  my 
mother's  bosom  ;  must  kneel  for  my 
father's  blessing ;  must  clasp  in  my 
arms  my  darling  sisters,  —  and  I  wish 
no  eye  but  God's  to  look  upon  me 
then." 

Winnie  followed  Mr.  Clifford,  af- 
ter a  few  words  expressive  of  her 
love  and  grief  at  parting,  leaving 
Frank  alone  with  his  sisters.  Lulu 
and  Annie  each  clung,  weeping,  to 
their  brother's  neck,  too   much  di^- 


FRANK  JOINS   THE   ARMY.  lOS 

tressed  to  utter  one  word.  Frank 
soothed  and  encouraged  them,  prom- 
to  write  often,  and  bidding  them 
control  their  grief  that  they  might 
the  better  comfort  his  father  and 
mother. 

"  To  you,  Annie,  especially,  I  com- 
mit my  precious  mother.  I  know  I 
need  not  urge  you  to  comfort  and 
encourage  her  when  I  am  gone.  You 
are  a  careful  nurse,  a  devoted  child, 
a  darling  sister  ;  and  all,  everything, 
that  a  thoughtful  mind  or  loving 
heart  can  do,  or  devise,  I  know  you 
will  perform.  If  I  never  return  "  — 
Frank's  voice  faltered  —  "yow  will 
comfort  her  in  the  last  hour,  will 
close  her  dying  eyes,  will  receive  her 
last    whispered    words.     Take    my 


101  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

place,  then,  Annie, — kiss  her  for  me, 
repeat  my  name  to  her,  and  tell  her 
how  I  loved  her.  If  I  should  live  to 
come  back  again,  you  will  remember 
and  repeat  to  me  her  last  words  for 
her  absent  boy,  won't  you,  Annie  1  " 

"  O  Frank  !  Frank  !  May  you  live 
to  return  and  receive  them  your- 
self !  How  can  we  part  from  mother 
and  you  not  be  here  to  sustain  us  1 
You  must  come  home  before  she 
dies ;  I  could  not  live  through  it,  if 
you  were  not'  here  in  that  dreadful 
hour,"  cried  Annie,  her  whole  frame 
shaking  with  anguish  as  she  tried  in 
vain  to  regain  her  calmness. 

Lulu's  sobs  WTre  heart-rending  as 
she  clung  to  her  brother's  neck  and 
repeated  "  Brother  !  brother  !  "  Gent- 


FRANK   JOINS   THE   ARMY.  105 

ly  loosening  her  clasp,  Frank  kissed 
her  fondly,  and  then  embracing  An 
nie,  whispered : 

"  Go  to  your  room  now,  Annie, 
and  take  Lulu  with  you.  She  will 
be  sick  to-morrow  if  she  gives  way 
to  her  grief  so  violently.  Be  careful 
of  her,  as  well  as  of  yourself,  for  our 
dear  mother's  sake.  One  more  kiss, 
sweet  sisters,  but  not  another  word." 

With  reluctant  steps  the  weeping 
sisters  left  the  room  for  their  own 
chamber,  and  sobbed  themselves  to 
sleep  in  each  other's  arms. 

But  where  was  Edith'?  As  the 
door  closed  after  Annie,  a  stifled  sob 
met  Frank's  ear,  and  he  turned  to 
ascertain  from  whence  it  came.  At 
the  further  side  of  the  room,  crouched 


106  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

upon  the  floor,  the  heavy  drapery 
curtain  drawn  close  around  her,  her 
head  buried  in  the  cushion  of  the 
window-seat,  was  Edith,  seeking  in 
vain  to  suppress  the  low  moans  of 
anguish  that  ever  and  anon  escaped 
her  lips.  Frank  was  beside  her  in  an 
instant.  With  tender  words  he  lifted 
her  bowed  head,  took  her  in  his  arms, 
and  seated  himself  in  the  arm-chair, 
holding  her  close  to  his  bosom. 

For  several  moments  neither  of 
them  uttered  a  word  —  even  Frank 
not  attempting  to  restrain  his  own 
tears,  that  dropped  fast  on  Edith's 
face,  as  she  sought,  by  an  almost  su- 
perhuman effort,  to  control  her  grief 
Gradually  her  sobs  became  less  fre- 
quent, her  tears  ceased,  and  her  ner- 


FRANK  JOINS   THE   ARMY.  107 

vous  hands  relaxed  their  tight  grasp 
on  his.  As  she  became  more  quiet, 
Frank  spoke  of  his  departure  on  the 
morrow  calmly,  freely  —  unburden- 
ing his  whole  heart,  with  all  its 
hopes,  fears,  aspirations. 

"  Look  at  it  calmly,  dear  Edie. 
There  are  many  chances  for  my  safe 
return  home  against  one  of  my  be- 
ing killed,  or  even  wounded.  I  am 
young  and  strong,  and,  for  your  sake, 
shall  guard  my  health,  and  not  run 
into  unnecessary  danger.  There  is 
One  only,  who  can  tell  what  may  be 
in  the  future  for  any  of  us.  To  His 
kind  care  I  commit  myself;  and 
while  I  am  ready  and  willing  to  lay 
down  my  life  for  the  good  of  my 
country,  I  can  cheerfully  trust  that 


108  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

life  in  His  hands,  knowing  that  no 
harm  can  come  to  me  only  as  He 
wills.  Life  and  death  are  in  His 
hands,  and  I  leave  it  all  with  Him. 
You  must  do  the  same.  I  may  be 
sick  or  wounded ;  I  may  meet  death 
on  the  battle-field ;  I  may  return  un- 
scathed, to  lead,  once  more,  a  quite 
life  at  Cedar  Brook.  In  either  case 
I  can  truly  say,  '  Let  it  be  as  God 
wills.'  I  hope  I  am  prepared  for 
even  a  sudden  death ;  am  ready  at 
any  moment  to  yield  into  His  hands 
the  life  He  gave.  There  is  but  one 
thing,  my  darling  sister,  you  can  do 
for  me,  and  that  is  more  than  aught 
else — 'pray  for  me.  I  shall  need  your 
prayers  in  the  camp,  on  the  field  ; 
in   life,    and  in  death.     Upheld    by 


FRANK  JOINS   THE   ARMY.  109 

prayer,  I  shall  be  nerved  for  duty, 
come  in  what  shape  it  may.  Oh  1 
what  a  comfort  it  will  be  to  me  to 
remember  I  have  Christian  parents 
and  sisters  who  are  ever  bearing  me 
on  their  hearts  before  the  mercy-seat  1 
Do  you  remember,  Edie,  it  will  be 
just  one  year  next  Sabbath  since  you 
and  Annie  were  baptized '? " 

"  Yes,  Erank,  I  remember  it ;  and 
also  how  bright  and  beautiful  the 
whole  world  seemed  to  me  then.  The 
sun  never  shone  so  bright,  the  trees 
and  flowers  never  wore  such  brilliant 
hues,  or  such  a  living  green,  as  then  ; 
the  sky  never  looked  so  clear  and 
unclouded  ;  and  all  nature  seemed 
uniting  in  one  vast  anthem  of  praise 
to  God.     But  to-day,  to-night,  how 


110  CEDAR    BROOK    STORltiS. 

dark,  how  gloomy,  how  sad,  is  all 
and  everything  !  A  black  pall  is 
spread  over  the  whole  universe  to 
me  now  ;  a  heavy,  leaden  weight 
presses  on  my  soul,  and  I  can  scarcely 
refrain  from  hiding  my  face  in  terror, 
as  if  I  was  looking,  even  now,  upon 
the  face  of  the  dead  or  dying." 

"  You  must  not  indulge  such  feel- 
ings, Edith ;  but  keep  a  brave  heart, 
and  remember  you  are  a  soldier's 
sister  now.  Think  of  the  pride  with 
which  you  will  welcome  me  home ; 
of  the  interest  you  will  feel  in  listen- 
ing to  my  account  of  hard-fought 
battles,  of  victories,  or  of  hair-breadth 
escapes !  When  I  come  back  to 
Cedar  Brook  I  shall  have  much  to 
say  that  will  interest  you  all,  and,  I 


FRANK   JOINS    THE   ARMY.  Ill 

hope,  repay  you  for  our  short  sep- 
aration. Three  months  will  pass 
quickly,  Edith.  Do  you  remembei 
how  sad  you  felt  when  mother  went 
to  Europe,  and  how  sure  you  were 
she  would  never  return  1  " 

"  Yes,  Frank.  But  God  was  bet- 
ter to  me  than  my  fears ;  and  you 
were  by  me  to  encourage  me  then." 

"  And  cannot  you  trust  Him  now  1 
May  He  not  be  better  than  your 
fears  again  1  " 

"  I  know  He  may ;  still,  I  cannot 
look  beyond  the  present.  There  is 
no  rift  in  the  cloud  now ;  not  one 
beam  of  light,  look  which  way  I  will. 
It  is  dark,  all  dark  !  O,  Frank  !  " 
and  Edith  suddenly  threw  her  arms 
around  his  neck,   "  something  tells 


112  CEDAK   BROOK   STORIES. 

me  you  will  never  return  —  never 
look  upon  Cedar  Brook  —  never  join 
our  home-circle  again.  Forgive  me 
for  prophesying  evil ;  but  I  cannot  re- 
frain from  speaking  all  my  thoughts 
to  you.  I  have  done  wrong  in  say- 
ing this,  I  know ;  for  I  should  en- 
courage, not  depress  —  strengthen, 
not  unman  you.'' 

"  Say  all  you  think,  Edith ;  I  am 
glad  you  have  spoken  freely.  It  gives 
me  courage  to  speak  of  feelings  I 
have  not  yet  dared  to  express  — 
hardly  to  acknowledge,  to  myself  I 
feel  that  there  is  a  great  uncertainty 
respectmg  my  return.  Of  course 
every  one,  in  going  to  war,  must  real- 
ize that,  in  one  sense,  it  is  taking 
his  life  in  his  hand  and  marching  to 


FRANK   JOINS    THE   ARMY.  113 

his  death.  I  cannot  disguise  from 
myself,  I  will  not  hide  it  from  you, 
that  I  have  a  strong  impression  I 
shall  look  upon  our  happy  home 
here  for  the  last  time  to-morrow. 
Do  not  feel  so  distressed,  Edith," 
feeling  her  whole  frame  shiver  in 
his  arms.  "  This  impression  may  be 
only  what  every  one  experiences  in 
leaving  home  at  the  present  time,  — a 
natural  depression  of  spirits  at  the 
thought  of  parting.  You  know  I 
have  hardly  been  out  of  sight  of 
Cedar  Brook  since  we  moved  here. 
I  have  never  travelled  further  than 
New  York  ;  and,  of  course,  in  the 
thought  of  a  separation  from  you  all, 
my  feelings  of  excitement,  and  un- 
certainty with  regard  to  the  future. 


114      CEDAR  BROOK  ST0RI1*S. 

must  cause  unwonted  emotions,  that 
I  probably  mistake  for  presentiments. 
Still,  as  we  have  referred  to  these 
things,  let  me  speak  freely,  as  I  can 
to  no  one  living  but  yourself,  and 
leave  with  you  a  few  directions  in 
case  I  should  not  return." 

Edith  hid  her  face  in  Frank's 
bosom  —  moving  not,  nor  speaking, 
as  he,  infew  words,  gave  her  du*ections 
respecting  some  letters  and  papers 
in  his  desk,  and  the  disposal  of  a  few 
articles  of  value,  as  keepsakes  to  his 
family  and  Elliot  Wentworth,  in  the 
event  of  his  death.  Every  word 
sank  into  her  heart,  every  half-ut- 
tered wish  was  registered  in  her  soul ; 
and  when  he  ceased  speaking,  she 
replied  only  by  a  mute  caress. 


FRANK   JOINS   THE   ARMY.  115 

The  hour  of  midnight  struck,  and 
Edith  was  still  in  her  brother's  arms, 
but  in  a  heavy  sleep  from  grief  and 
exhaustion.  Carefully  placing  her 
upon  the  sofa,  and  covering  her  with 
a  shawl,  he  kept  watch  beside  her  till 
early  dawn  —  too  busy  with  his  own 
crowding  thoughts  to  seek  rest  in 
his  own  room. 

At  five  o'clock,  Peter  passed  the 
door  to  awaken  his  young  master, 
whom  he  supposed  was  in  bed. 
Frank  stepped  lightly  to  the  door, 
and  pointed  to  Edith,  placing  hi^ 
finger  upon  his  lips.  Peter  under- 
stood him,  and  turned  away  his  face 
to  hide  his  tears,  when  Frank  knelt 
for  a  moment  beside  his  favorite 
sister,  gently  kissed  her  pale  cheek, 


116  CEDAR   BROOK   STORIES. 

and  then  softly  lifted  a  curl  from  hei 
temple,  severed  it  from  its  fellows, 
and  placed  it  next  his  bosom.  Loos- 
ing the  heavy  drapery  over  the 
windows,  he  carefully  darkened  the 
room,  looked  earnestly  at  the  pic- 
tures, the  open  piano,  the  books,  and 
work  scattered  around,  as  if  daguer- 
reo typing  the  room  and  every  article 
it  contained  upon  his  memory ;  and 
then,  with  quivering  lip  and  tearful 
eyes,  followed  Peter  to  the  carriage. 
Bridget  was  at  the  gate,  her  hon- 
est face  deluged  with  tears,  as  she 
held  out  her  hand  to  bid  him  good- 
by.  Pointing  toward  the  house  as  a 
sign  to  prevent  any  outburst  of  grief, 
he  thanked  her  for  all  her  kindness 
to  him  and  faithfulness  to  his  mother, 


FRANK   JOINS   THE    ARMY.  117 

telling  her  he  hoped  she  would  re- 
main at  Cedar  Brook  till  he  returned. 

"  We  cannot  do  without  you, 
Bridget;  your  services  are  invalua- 
ble to  mother,  and  we  all  appreciate 
them  fully.  Look  in  my  room,  after 
breakfast,  and  you  will  find  a  little 
package,  on  my  dressing-table,  di- 
rected to  you.  Keep  it  for  my  sake, 
and  be  assured  that,  wherever  I  am, 
I  shall  remember  your  kindness  to 
me  and  fidelity  to  my  dear  mother. 
God  bless  ]^ou.     Good-by." 

Bridget  seized  Frank's  extended 
hand,  and  kissed  it ;  —  watched  the 
carriage  as  long  as  it  was  in  sight, 
then  ran  into  the  barn,  climbed  the 
ladder  to  the  loft,  threw  herself  upon 
the  hay,  and  cried  till  she  was  tired. 


118  CEDAR    BROOK    STORIES. 

"  Och !  and  it's  the  last  time  I've 
looked  upon  the  handsome  lad,  I'm 
shure,  this  day.  The  blessed  Virgin 
rest  his  sowl  if  he's  killed  in  battle 
with  them  cursed  seceshi oners  —  the 
bloody,  black-hearted  murthurers ! 
Let  them  fight  their  own  nagurs, 
and  not  be  sending  after  master 
Frank,  with  his  handsome  face  and 
curly  hair,  to  shoot  and  kill  and 
murther.  Oh,  the  miserable  planta- 
tioners,  with  their  bloody  hounds, 
and  chains,  and  whips  !  — :-  may  Saint 
Peter  and  Paul,  and  all  the  holy 
fathers,  fry  them  all  in  purgatory, 
with  not  a  mass  to  save  their  souls  ! 
Faith !  and  was  I  the  pope  I'd  ex- 
communicate them  all  in  a  hape  — 
the    thieving,   bloody,    craven    set  I 


FRANK  JOINS   THE  ARMY.  119 

May  the  blessed  Mary  dance  them 
on  hot  coals  till  their  feet  are  blis- 
tered and  they  ax  pardon,  on  their 
knees,  for  tooting  war  all  oyer  the 
land  !  I  know  what  the  craven  sowls 
will  do  to  master  Frank,  —  they'll 
set  him  up  like  a  target,  and  shoot 
at  him  till  his  brains  are  split,  and 
he  have  no  sense  left  to  come  home 
again.  O,  mavourneen  !  mavour- 
neen !  —  that  I  should  live  to  see  the 
day  he  wasn't  a  President,  but  only 
a  cowld  corpse  with  a  cannon-ball 
though  his  head  !  Saint  Patrick  and 
Saint  Nicholas  defend  the  boy,  and 
bring  him  home  with  the  stars  and 
stripes  flying  all  around  him,  and 
the  band  playing  Erin-go-bragh  and 
Yankee  Doodle  !  " 


CHAPTER   V. 


"It  is  a  fortnight  to-day  sir.ce 
Frank  wrote  us  he  expected  to  leave 
Washington  for  Virginia,"  said 
Edith  to  Annie,  as  they  sat  together 
in  theu'  mother's  room,  while  Mrs. 
CliiFord  lay  asleep,  after  one  of  her 
exhausting  spells  of  coughing.  "  Is 
it  not  strange  that  he  has  not  writ- 
ten again  ?  My  heart  beats  painfully 
at  the  sound  of  every  step  upon  the 
piazza.  I  long,  yet  fear,  to  hear 
from  him.     Can  it  be  that  he  was  at 

Centreville,  and  wounded   or  taken 

120 


Edith's  jouknei'  to  Washington.    121 

prisoner  in  that  terrible  battle  at 
Bull  Run  ?  My  very  soul  is  sick  as 
I  think  of  it." 

"  You  distress  yourself  needlessly, 
Edith;  and,  I  fear,  trouble  mother 
by  your  constant  anxiety.  I  know, 
dear,  you  cannot  help  being  very 
anxious,"  added  Annie,  observing  that 
Edith's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and 
her  fingers  trembled  so  she  could 
hardly  hold  her  needle ;  "  but  you 
must  try  to  feel  more  hopeful.  Your 
anxiety  for  Frank  has  robbed  you 
of  all  your  elasticity ;  your  eyes  are 
heavy,  your  cheeks  are  pale,  and  you 
really  look  as  if  you  had  been  sick. 
I  observed  mother  gazing  at  you  this 
morning,  till  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  and  her  face  wore  such  an  ex- 


122  CEDAR   BROOK   STORIES. 

pressioii  of  anguish  that  I  could 
hardly  bear  to  look  at  her.  She 
understands  your  anxiety,  and  the 
knowledge  of  your  suffering  only 
adds  to  her  own,  causing  her  thoughts 
to  rest  more  constantly  on  Frank, 
and  the  sad  probability  that  they 
have  parted  forever.  On  her  ac- 
count, endeavor  —  at  least  in  her 
presence  —  to  appear  at  ease,  and 
converse  as  much  as  possible  on 
subjects  foreign  to  Frank  and  the 
war." 

"  You  are  right,  Annie.  I  must 
control  my  feelings,  and  try  to  hope 
for  the  best  ;  at  any  rate,  keep  all 
my  fears  within  my  own  breast 
when  I  am  with  dear  mother.  Just 
see  how  pale  she  is  !  —  how  almost 


EDITH'S   JOURNEY   TO    WASHINGTON.     123 

transparent  her  delicate  hand  looks 
as  it  rests  on  the  counterpane  !  She 
surely  cannot  be  with  us  long  ;  and 
selfish  indeed  it  would  be  in  me  to 
add  one  drop  of  sorrow  to  her  cup. 
No  !  —  I  will  look  cheerful,  and 
strive  to  feel  so";  and  Edith  pressed 
back  her  hair  from  her  throbbing 
temples,  and  tried  to  smile.  But  it 
was  a  sad,  sad  smile,  lingering  only 
around  the  lips,  leaving  the  eyes 
heavy  and  dull,  and  causing  Annie's 
lip  to  quiver,  as  she  looked  at  her 
sister,  and  understood  fully  the  depth 
of  filial  and  sisterly  love  so  strongly 
contending  in  that  young  heart  for 
the  mastery.  She  however  gave  no 
outward  sign  of  sympathy  save  by 


124  CEDAR    LllOOK    STOUIES. 

a  more  tender  tone  of  voice,  as  ske 
replied : 

"  That  is  like  your  own  sweet 
self,  Edie  ;  —  you  have  too  unselfish 
a  spirit  to  cause  mother,  or  any  one 
else,  a  moment's  needless  sufi'ering. 
Forgive  me  if  1  seemed  to  reprove 
you.  I  did  not  intend  to  ;  but  my 
heart  ached  to  see  you  look  so  sor- 
rowful, and  know  that  mother  di- 
vined the  cause.  I  feared  it  might 
prove  injurious  to  her.  But  hark  ! 
Is  not  that  Peter's  step  in  the  hall  ? 
Perhaps  he  has  a  letter.  I  will  go 
and  ask  him." 

"  No,  no  !  "  whispered  Edith, 
pressing  Annie  back  in  her  chair  as 
she  attempted  to  rise  ;  "let  me  go  — 
you  stay  with  motlicr.     I  will  call 


EDITH'S   JOURNEY    TO    WASHINGTON.     125 

you  if  there  is  any  news.  I  should 
lose  all  control  if  I  was  kept  in  sus- 
pense five  minutes  longer." 

With  hurried,  but  noiseless  steps, 
Edith  left  the  room,  and  met  Peter 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  A  letter  from  Frank  ] "  she  in- 
quired, as  she  observed  he  held  one 
in  his  hand.      "  Is  it  for  meV 

"  No,  miss  ;  it's  directed  to  your 
father — postmarked  Washington.  I 
reckon  it  is  from  the  young  master 
by  that ;  "  and  Peter's  honest  face 
glowed  with  pleasure  as  he  handed 
her  the  letter. 

Hastily  glancing  at  the  super- 
scription, she  saw  it  was  not  Frank's 
handwriting ;  and  her  heart  sank 
within   her,   as    she   almost   sprang 


126  CEDAR    BROOK    STORIES. 

into  the  library,  and  laid  it  upon  the 
table  before  her  father.  Mr.  Clif- 
ford's countenance  changed  as  he 
glanced  at  the  direction,  and  quickly 
tore  open  the  envelope. 

Edith,  trembling  from  head  to 
foot,  sank  into  a  chair  opposite  her 
father,  and,  with  clasped  hands  and 
a  face  from  which  every  particle  of 
color  had  fled,  watched  him  as  he 
read.  A  spasm  of  pain  contracted 
his  features,  and  he  leaned  his  head 
upon  the  table  as,  without  a  word, 
he  handed  Edith  the  letter.  Her  eye 
ran  over  the  page,  seeming  to  take 
in  the  whole  contents  at  a  glance ; 
and  yet  she  forced  herself  to  read 
it  slowly  through  the  second  time 
before   she   spoke  or   moved.      We 


FRANK   WOUNDED    AT    lU'I.L    KFN  —  E. 


EDITH'S  JOURNEY  TO   WASHINGTON.     127 

Avill  look  over  her  shoulder  as  she 
reads : 

"  Mr.  Clifford  —  Dear  Sir :  —  I 
write  to  inform  you  that  your  son, 
Frank  Clifford,  wa«  wounded  in  the 
late  battle  of  Bull  Run.  Early  in 
the  engagement,  his  left  arm  was 
badly  shattered  as  he  was  fighting 
bravely,  shouting,  '  Down  with  the 
rebels  !  For  God  and  my  country  ! ' 
He  had  scarcely  spoken  the  words, 
when  he  was  struck  the  second  time, 
and  probably  fainting,  sank  to  the 
ground.  My  brother  was  near  him 
when  he  fell,  and  with  some  difficul- 
ty bore  him  from  the  ranks,  and  laid 
him  outside  the  lines.  After  the 
battle,  my  brother  found  him  living, 
but  very  weak  from  pain  and  loss  of 


128  CEDAR   BROOK   STORIES. 

blood.  He  was  conveyed  with  others 
of  the  wounded  to  Washington,  and, 
by  my  brother's  request,  to  my  house 
—  knowing  my  husband  and  myself 
would  pay  him  every  attention.  We 
immediately  sent  for  a  surgeon,  who 
considered  it  necessary  to  amputate 
his  arm.  He  bore  the  amputation 
without  a  groan,  and  until  yesterday 
the  physician  considered  he  was  do- 
ing well.  Since  then  a  change  has 
taken  place, — fever  has  set  in, — and 
we  deem  it  necessary  to  send  for  your- 
self, or  some  member  of  his  family, 
thinking,  in  the  event  of  his  death, 
it  will  be  a  satisfaction  to  you  if  you 
can  be  with  him  in  his  last  hours. 

"May  He  who  holds  the  lives  of  all 
men  in  his  hands,  spare  your  noble 


•  Edith's  journey  to  Washington.    129 

boy  to  yet  be  the  stay  and  comfort 
of  your  declining  years  ! 

"  With  the  truest  sympathy  of  one 
who  has  two  brothers  and  an  only 
son  in  the  army,  and  can  therefore 
well  understand  the  anxiety  and  sor- 
row of  Mr.  Clifford's  parents  and 
sisters,  I  remain 

Yours,  most  truly, 

Mrs.  L.  a.  Atherton. 
Washington,  July  29th,  1861." 

Carefully  folding  the  letter,  Edith 
placed  it  in  the  envelope,  laid  it 
upon  the  table,  and  then,  with  totter- 
ing steps,  turned  toward  the  door. 
A  heavy  fall  aroused  Mr.  Clifford, 
and  he  sprang  toward  his  child,  who 
had   fainted   and  fallen   across    the 

threshold.     Eaising  her  in  his  arms, 
9 


l30  CEDAR   BROOK   STORIES.    ' 

he  bore  her  to  the  sofa,  and  rang  the 
bell.  Tt  \^'as  immediately  answered 
by  Annie,  who  had  heard  the  fall 
and  ran  down  stairs,  half  divining 
the  cause. 

"  Go  up  stau's  .  to  mother,"  said 
Annie  to  Lulu,  who  had  just  come 
in  from  a  walk.  *'  If  she  is  awake 
do  not  alarm  her :  merely  say  Edith 
is  not  well,  and  I  will  be  up  stairs 
in  a  short  time.  No  !  no  !  —  ask  no 
questions  now,  Lulu.  Edith  has 
overtasked  herself,  but  will  be  better 
soon.  Be  very  careful  not  to  agitate 
mother  in  the  least.  Keep  calm ; 
and,  if  she  did  not  hear  Edith  fall, 
do  not  speak  of  her  fainting.  I  can 
trust  you ;  —  you  will  control  your- 
self]" 


Edith's  journey  to  Washington.    131 

"  You  may  depend  upon  that," 
answered  Lulu,  who  had  much  of 
Annie's  quiet  self-possession,  and 
was  not  so  easily  excited  as  Edith. 

Applying  the  usual  restoratives, 
Mr.  Clifford  and  Annie  had  the  sat- 
isfaction of  seeing  Edith  soon  un- 
close her  eyes,  and,  though  pale  and 
weak,  able  in  a  short  time  to  sit  up, 
and  even  read  the  letter  again  with 
composure,  and  consult  with  her 
father  as  to  what  was  best  to  be 
done. 

"  You  will  go  to  Washington  di- 
rectly, father,  wont  you  1  Had  not 
Annie  better  accompany  you  —  she 
is  such  a  good  nurse,  she  will  be 
more  useful  than  any  one  else  ?  "  in- 
quired Edith,  in  a  dry,  husky  voice, 


132      CEDAR  BROOK  STORIES. 

cold  chills  passing  over  her,  and 
making  her  shiver  like  an  ague-fit. 

"How  can  I  leave  mother?" 
pleaded  Annie.  "  She  is  too  feeble 
for  me  to  leave  now.  I  would  gladly 
go  ;  but  ought  1 1  Would  you  not 
be  willing  to  go  in  my  stead  ?  "  she 
added,  passing  her  arm  around 
Edith's  waist,  and  taking  her  cold 
hand  in  hers. 

"J/ —  mai/  I  go  ]  Will  you  let  me  ? 
Willing !  —  O  Annie !  It  almost  killed 
me  to  even  propose  your  going,  I 
longed  so  to  go  myself;  but  I  dared 
not  ask  to  go.  I  thought  you  would 
never  consent ;  would  think  me  too 
nervous,  too  weak,  too  good-for-noth- 
ing. May  I  go,  father]  Can  you 
trust  me  1 "  and  Edith  gazed  in  her 


EDITH'S   JOURNEY  TO   WASHINGTON.     133 

fathers  face  in  almost  speechless 
agony. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  child ;  you  shall  go. 
I  can  trust  you.  Now  the  first  shock 
is  past,  I  know  you  will  have  all  the 
calmness  and  self-control  necessary 
for  whatever  duty  or  trial  you  may 
be  called  upon  to  meet.  Lie  down 
awhile  ;  —  I  must  go  and  break  the 
sad  news  to  your  mother.  Annie, 
come  with  me.  I  will  send  Lulu  to 
sit  by  Edith." 

Kissing  the  still  pale  lips  of  his 
darling  child,  Mr.  Clifford  left  her 
and  went  up  stau's,  with  Annie,  to 
his  wife's  room.  She  was  sitting  up, 
looking  somewhat  refreshed  by  her 
quiet  sleep ;  but  her  quick  eye  de- 
tected something  unusual  in  her  hus- 


134  CEDAK  BROOK   STORIES. 

band's  manner,  as  he  drew  a  cliaii 
beside  her,  notwithstandmghis  efforts 
to  appear  composed. 

"What  has  happened]  "  she  asked, 
not  replying  to  her  husband's  re- 
marks upon  her  unusually  bright 
looks.  "  Have  you  heard  from 
Frank  1  —  is  he  well  ]  " 

With  a  powerful  effort,  Mr.  Clif- 
ford compelled  himself  to  answer 
calmly,  in  his  usual  tone,  "  Yes ;  I 
have  received  a  letter  to-night.  He 
was  in  the  last  battle,  and  received  a 
severe  wound  in  his  left  arm.  He 
was  conveyed  to  the  house  of  the 
sister  of  a  fellow-soldier,  in  Wash- 
ington, where  he  is  well  cared  for, 
and  receives  every  attention  he  could 
have  in  his  own  home.     I  have  been 


135 

thinking  that  it  might  be  your  Arish, 
and  a  gratification  to  him,  if  I  should 
go  to  Washington  myself  to-morrow, 
and  see  how  he  is,  —  perhaps  take 
Edith  with  me  ;  she  might  be  of 
some  assistance  to  Mrs.  Atherton  in 
nursing  him  ;  at  any  rate,  I  know 
Frank  would  like  to  see  her.  What 
do  you  say  ?  " 

For  a  brief  moment  Mrs.  Clifford 
did  not  answer,  but  leaned  forward, 
looking  into  her  husband's  eyes  as 
though  she  would  read  his  very  soul. 
He  could  hardly  bear  that  searching 
look ;  but  he  endeavored  to  meet 
her  gaze  calmly,  without  betraying 
his  own  anxious  feelings. 

A  mother  cannot  be  deceived.  An 
invisible  but  never-broken  tie  unites 


136  CEDAR  BROOK   STORIES. 

her  ever  to  the  child  of  her  bosom ; 
a  responsive  chord  echoes  the  pres- 
sure of  any  heavy  pain  or  sorro^^ 
resting  upon  that  child,  though 
oceans  intervene,  or  continents  di- 
vide. So  with  Mrs.  CHiford.  Her 
mother-heart  told  her  Frank  was  in 
danger,  perhaps  dying  ;  and,  with 
quivering  lips,  she  uttered,  slowly  : 

"  Tell  me  the  worst,  now,  —  I  can 
bear  it.     Is  he  —  dead  1 " 

"  No,  my  dear  wife  ;  our  boy  is 
living  still,  but  may  not  be  long. 
He  is  dangerously  ill ;  and  this  let- 
ter from  Mrs.  Atherton  will  explain 
it  all  to  you.  Can  you  spare  Edith 
and  myself  for  a  few  days,  that  we 
may  go  to  him  ]  " 

"  Yes ;  — go,  go  !  Do  not  delay  one 


Edith's  joukney  to  Washington.    137 

hour !  Give  not  one  thought  to 
me.  Annie  and  Lulu  will  be  here. 
I  shall  require  nothing  that  they  can- 
not perform.  Go  now,  Annie  dear, 
and  pack  Edith's  trunk.  Put  in 
wine,  jellies,  —  everything  that  you 
can  think  of  that  will  be  of  service 
or  comfort  to  Frank.  Lulu  will  ar- 
range a  valise  for  your  father ;  and 
they  can  take  the  early  morning  train 
for  New  York." 

Quickly,  but  quietly,  every  prep- 
aration was  made  for  then*  departure ; 
and  early  on  the  morrow  Mr.  Clif- 
ford and  daughter  were  on  their  way. 

How  different  everything  appeared 
to  Edith,  now,  from  the  same  scenery 
upon  which  she  looked  with  so  much 
pleasure,  for  the  first  time,  as   she 


138      CEDAR  BROOK  STORIES. 

journeyed  with  her  Aunt  Wmnie  to 
New  York,  on  her  way  to  Illinois. 
Then,  the  cars  seemed  to  fly  over 
the  ground  with  incredible  speed  ; 
her  whole  attention  was  absorbed  in 
watching  the  constantly  changing 
panorama  of  wood  and  plain,  rivers 
and  towns  —  her  quick  eye  noting 
every  object  as  they  swiftly  appeared 
and  disappeared  on  their  rapid  course. 
Now,  how  wearily  the  cars  dragged 
their  slow  length  along !  how  much, 
to  her  impatient  spirit,  their  revolv- 
ing wheels  seemed  like  the  dull, 
laggard  pace  of  a  funeral  procession ! 
Then,  the  beautiful  scenery  charmed 
her  eye,  and  called  forth  constant  ex- 
clamations of  delight.  Now,  every- 
thing jarred  upon  her  feelings,  and 


EDITH'S  JOURNEY  TO   WASHINGTON.     139 

she  wept  because  the  sun  shone,  the 
flowers  bloomed,  the  birds  sang. 
How  could  all  nature  look  so  gay 
when  Frank  was  suffering  —  per- 
chance dying  !  Better  would  it  ac- 
cord with  her  feelings,  if  the  heavens 
were  hung  in  black,  and  the  earth 
dressed  in  mourning. 

A  little  child  near  her  laughed 
and  clapped  his  hands  as  something 
attracted  his  childish  fancy  ;  but 
Edith  shuddered  involuntarily,  and 
covered  her  face.  A  careless  remark 
of  a  passenger  respecting  the  last 
battle,  almost  forced  a  scream  from 
her  lips.  Indeed,  all  she  heard, 
everything  she  looked  upon,  seemed 
only  to  add  to  her  misery.  But 
Edith  would  allow  herself  no  expres- 


140  CEDAR    BROOK   STORIES. 

sion  of  such  feelings.  One  look  at 
her  father's  troubled  face  nerved  her 
to  conceal  her  own  sorrow,  and  seek 
to  comfort  him.  Long  before  they 
reached  New  York,  she  was  endeavor- 
ing to  divert  his  thoughts  by  point- 
ing out  objects  of  interest,  or  asking 
questions  respecting  the  different 
places  they  passed. 

They  made  no  stay  on  the  way 
longer  than  was  required  for  change 
of  cars,  and  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
second  day  arrived  in  Washington. 
Taking  a  carriage,  they  drove  imme- 
diately to  Mrs.  Atherton's,  and  were 
ushered  by  the  servant  into  the 
drawing-room,  while  he  went  to 
announce  their  arrival  to  his  mis- 
tress. 


CHAPTER  VL 

PEANX*S   DEATH. 


Throwing  aside  her  veil,  Edith 
cast  a  nervous  glance  around  the 
room ;  and,  even  in  that  moment  of 
anxiety,  could  not  refrain  from  no- 
ticing the  air  of  refinement  and  cul- 
tivated taste  pervading  the  whole 
apartment.  Pictures,  statuary,  arti- 
cles of  virtu,  books,  engravings,  a 
piano,  harp,  and  flute,  all  bespoke 
the  owner's  tastes ;  while  rich  vases 
on  the  mantel  and  pier-tables,  filled 
with  flowers  exquisitely  arranged, 
perfumed  the  air  with  their  fragrance. 


141 


142  CEDAR   BROOK   STORIES. 

Edith  had  hardly  completed  her 
survey,  when  the  door  opened,  and 
a  tall,  queenly-looking  lady  entered 
She  extended  a  hand  of  cordial  wel- 
come to  Mr.  Clifford,  and  kissed 
Edith  with  a  mother's  tenderness. — 
saying  : 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  sir ; 
and  you  too,  my  sweet  child.  You 
have  not  come  one  hour  too  soon. 
Your  son  is  impatiently  awaiting 
your  arrival :  every  hour  has  seemed 
a  day  since  I  wrote.  Lay  aside  your 
hat  and  shawl,  my  dear,  and  rest  on 
the  sofa  while  I  show  your  father  to 
Mr.  Clifford's  room.  I  cannot  allow 
you  both  to  visit  him  at  once ;  his 
strength  would  not  be  equal  to  the 
excitement.     He  is  very  weak,  and 


FRANK^S  DEATH.  143 

I  fear  you  will  find  him  greatly 
changed;  though  the  doctor  thinks 
he  may  continue  several  days  yet." 

"  Then  there  is  no  hope  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Clifford,  in  a  constrained  tone,  — 
a  cold  sweat  starting  like  heads  on 
his  forehead,  in  his  effort  to  appear 
calm. 

"  The  doctor  says  there  is  none. 
But,  my  dear  sir,  death  has  no  terrors 
for  your  noble  boy.  He  knows  his 
situation,  and  has  but  one  wish,  one 
prayer  now,  and  that  is  to  see  you 
and  his  sister  Edith  before  he  dies. 
Is  not  this  that  darling  sister?  I 
should  know  her  by  his  description. 
Hush,  my  child  !  "  said  Mrs.  Ather- 
ton,  as  Edith  burst  into  tears.  "  You 
must,  you  will  be  calm,  for  his  sake. 


144  CEDAE  BROOK   STORIES.  •  ^ 

His  very  life  depends  upon  perfect 
quiet  and  freedom  from  all  agitation. 
Weep  freely  here,  if  you  will  — 
tears  will  relieve  your  over-burdened 
heart;  but  when  you  meet  your 
brother,  it  must  be  with  at  least  out 
ward  calmness,  and  without  tears." 

Tenderly  placing  a  cushion  be- 
neath Edith's  head,  and  whispering, 
*'  Weep  freely  now ;  you  shall  be  un- 
disturbed for  a  while,"  Mrs.  Atherton 
led  the  way  across  the  wide  hall,  up 
the -front  stairs,  to  Frank's  room. 
Pointing  to  the  bed,  Mrs.  Atherton 
closed  the  door,  and  left  the  father 
and  son  alone. 

In  half  an  hour  she  returned  to 
the  drawing-room,  and  took  a  seat 
upon  the  sofa  beside  Edith.     With- 


^/L'    FRANK'S   DEATH.  145 

out  a  word  she  raised  her  tenderly, 
drew  her  head  upon  her  bosom,  and 
lifted  the  damp  hair  from  her  throb- 
bhig  brow,  turning  her  soft  curls 
around  her  finger. 

Gradually  Edith  wept  less  vio- 
lently, her  agitation  ceased,  and  in  a 
short  time  she  lay  perfectly  still. 
Thinking  she  had  wept  herself 
asleep,  Mrs.  Atherton  remained  mo- 
tionless, hoping  she  would  awake  re- 
freshed. But  Edith  was  not  asleep : 
she  was  thinking  of  Frank ;  trying 
to  comprehend  the  whole,  dreadful 
meaning  of  those  few  words,  "  there 
is  no  hope;"  trying  to  accustom 
herself  to  the  agonizing  reality  that 
she  must  part  with  Frank,  —  must 

henceforth  live  without  him. 
10 


146  CEDAR  BROOK   STORIES.  % 

Suddenly  passing  lier  arm  around 
Mrs.  Atherton's  neck,  she  whispered, 
"  Tell  me  all  about  hhn,  —  what  he 
has  suffered  ;  what  he  has  said  ;  how 
he  feels  about  dying,  —  all,  every- 
thing your  own  heart  tells  you,  I 
can  wish  to  know.  I  can  bear  it 
now.' 

Complying  with  her  request,  Mrs. 
Atherton  gave  a  minute  account  of 
his  arrival  at  her  house,  after  a  pain- 
ful journey  from  Centreville  ;  of  the 
unflinching  courage  with  which  he 
bore  the  amputation  of  his  arm, 
which  was  too  badly  shattered  to  be 
set ;  and  also  of  the  suffering  caused 
by  a  bullet- wound  in  his  side  —  the 
ball  too  deeply  embedded  to  allow 
of    extraction    in    his    weak    state. 


FRANK'S   DEATH.  147 

She  repeated  his  conversation  with 
her  respecting  his  parents  and  sis- 
ters,— especially  of  his  favorite  sister 
Edith,  of  whom  he  never  tired  of 
speaking ;  going  back,  in  his  menif 
ory,  to  their  childish  days,  when 
they  hunted  squirrels  together,  built 
wharves  and  storehouses  by  the 
"  basin,"  or  gathered  flowers  and 
berries  in  the  fields  and  woods. 
Then  he  spoke  of  his  strong  presen- 
timents of  death  before  he  left  home ; 
of  his  certainty  that  he  had  looked 
for  the  last  time  upon  Cedar  Brook  ; 
had  taken  his  final  leave  of  his 
mother,  Annie,  and  Lulu,  but  that 
he  still  clung  to  the  belief  he  should 
see  his  father  and  Edith  once  more. 
"  *  I  can  die  peacefully,'  he  said, 


148      CEDAR  BROOK  STORIES. 

*  if  I  can  be  permitted  to  see  my 
own  dear  Edie  again,  —  can  know 
her  hand  will  close  my  eyes,  her 
voice  commend  my  departing  soul 
to  God.  I  have  no  fear  of  death  : 
for  me  to  die  is  gain.  My  peace  is 
made  with  God.  I  gave  myself  to 
him,  without  reserve,  nearly  seven 
years  ago,  and  have  not  known  a  day 
since  when  I  have  not  renewedly 
consecrated  myself  to  him.  Jesus 
is  all-in-all  to  me ;  and  I  know  he  is 
able  to  keep  that  which  I  have  com- 
mitted to  him,  until  the  last,  great 
day.  I  have  not  a  doubt  or  a  fear, 
but  am  ready  and  willing  to  go  when 
he  calls.  I  have  but  one  earthly 
wish,  and  that  is  to  see  my  father 
and  sister;    but   in  that,  as   in   all 


149 

things   else,   'not  my  will,  O  God, 
but  thine  be  done.' 

"Surely,  my  child,"  continued  Mrs. 
Atherton,  "  you  have  much  to  com- 
fort you  in  this  devoted  affection  of 
your  dear  brother.  Few  sisters  ex- 
perience such  pure,  unselfish  love 
as  Frank  evinces  toward  you.  His 
touching  allusions  to  you  iu  our 
many  conversations  have  made  me 
weep  like  a  child,  and  I  know  how 
fondly  you  are  cherished,  and  how 
close  is  the  bond  that  unites  you  to 
him.  The  day  after  his  arrival  here, 
he  requested  me  to  hand  him  a  little 
paper  sowed  into  the  breast  of  his 
flannel  shirt.  At  his  request  I 
opened  it  for  him,  and  took  out  a 
curl  of  soft,   dark    hair,    like   your 


150  CEDAR   BROOK   STORIES. 

own.  He  looked  at  it  tearfully,  then 
pressed  it  to  his  lips,  murmuring, 
'  Dear,  precious  Edie  !  I  cut  this 
from  her  temples  just  as  I  was  leav- 
ing home.  She  cried  herself  to  sleep 
in  my  arms,  and  I  sat  by  her  till  day- 
light, when  I  was  forced  to  go.  I 
cut  off  this  lock  without  waking  her, 
and  have  worn  it  in  my  bosom  ever 
since.  If  I  should  never  see  her 
again,  lay  it  on  my  breast  when  I 
am  buried,  and  tell  her  how  I  longed 
to  see  her  before  I  died.' 

"  I  promised  him  I  would.  But 
now  he  will  see  you  himself,  and 
tell  you  all  that  I  cannot." 

Nearly  two  hours  elapsed  before 
Mr.  Clifford  returned  to  the  draw- 
ing-room.    His  face  bore  traces  of 


Frank's  death.  151 

tears,  but  he  was  calm,  almost  cheer- 
ful. ''  I  left  Frank  asleep,"  he  said, 
in  answer  to  Edith's  look  of  inquiry. 
"  He  is  very  weak,  and  cannot  bear 
any  excitement.  The  nurse  is  with 
him,  and  has  promised  to  call  you 
when  he  wakes,  if  he  is  able  to  see 
you.  I  met  Mr.  Atherton  in  cross- 
ing the  hall,  and  he  insists  upon  our 
making  his  house  our  home  while 
we  remain.  I  will  order  our  trunks 
to  be  sent  here  from  the  hotel,  and 
then  be  ready,  any  moment,  to  assist 
you  in  the  care  of  Frank." 

Mr.  Atherton  came  in,  and  greeted 
Edith  as  cordially  as  his  wife  had 
done.  She  no  longer  felt  as  if  among 
strangers ;  for  the  quiet,  unpretend- 
ing kindness   of  Mr.  Atherton   and 


152  CEDAR  BROOK   STORIES. 

his  noble  wife  removed  all  feeliug 
of  restraint,  and  she  soon  felt  per- 
fectly at  home.  After  supper,  as 
Frank  was  still  asleep,  Mrs.  Ather- 
ton  returned  with  ]fidith  and  her 
father  to  the  drawing-room. 

"  Are  you  fond  of  music  1  "  she 
asked,  as  Edith  approached  the  harp 
and  touched  her  fingers  to  the 
strings. 

"  Yes,  very.  Can  you  play  upon 
the  harp  ]  Would  it  wake,  or  dis- 
turb Frank,  if  you  should  let  me 
hear  a  few  notes?  I  have  seen  a 
harp,  but  never  heard  one  played 
upon." 

''It  will  not  disturb  him  in  the 
least.  His  room  is  over  the  library, 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall,  and, 


153 

if  you  will  close  the  door,  he  cannot 
hear  a  sound." 

Drawing  the  harp  toward  her,  Mrs. 
Atherton  swept  her  fingers  across 
its  strings  in  a  short  but  thrilling 
prelude,  and  then,  in  a  sweet,  sub- 
dued voice,  sang  song,  after  song, 
with  a  power  and  pathos  that  seemed 
to  express  the  very  thoughts  and 
hidden  emotions  of  Edith's  soul. 
Soothed,  calmed,  strengthened  by 
that  sweet  music,  Edith  felt  prepared 
to  follow  the  nurse,  with  steady  step 
and  perfect  outward  tranquillity,  to 
her  brother's  room. 

Hesitating  but  one  moment,  on 
the  threshold,  to  accustom  her  sight 
to  the  darkened  room,  she  closed  the 
door,  and   with   noiseless    step   ap- 


154  CEDAR  BROOK   STORIES. 

pioached  the  bed.  One  kiss,,  one 
pressure  of  her  cheek  to  his,  one 
grasp  of  his  thin,  feverish  hand,  one 
word  only  —  "  Frank !  "  —  and  Edith 
knelt  beside  her  brother,  astonished 
at  her  own  calmness,  wondering  at 
her  own  power  of  self-control. 

For  a  long  time  she  knelt  there, 
her  face  close  to  his,  her  hand 
smoothing  back  his  thick  curls,  her 
ear  listening  to  his  short,  quick  res- 
piration, not  one  word  uttered  by 
either  —  every  thought,  every  wish, 
for  the  time  being  merged  in  the 
one  happy  consciousness  that  they 
were  once  more  together. 

Beautiful,  touching,  such  love  as 
this  between  a  brother  and  a  sister  ! 


PRANK^S  DEATH.  165 

Earth  nor  heaven  knows  no  affection 
holier  or  purer  ! 

"  Draw  aside  the  curtain,"  said 
Frank,  at  last.  "  I  want  to  look  at 
your  face,  dear  Edie.  Oh,  how  hun- 
gry I  have  been  to  see  you  once  more, 
to  hear  your  voice,  to  know  you 
were  beside  me!  God  has  granted 
my  prayer  at  last,  blessed  be  his 
holy  name ! " 

Edith  lifted  the  heavy  drapery, 
and  stood  beside  her  brother.  Ah ! 
what  an  eager  gaze  the  sick  boy  bent 
upon  the  sweet  face  before  him  ! 
—  how  earnestly  he  scanned  every 
well-known  feature  !  —  how  quickly 
marked  the  traces  of  mental  anguish 
she  had  suffered  in  the  few  past 
weeks  and  days,   so   plainly  visible 


156  CEDAR  BROOK   STORIES. 

in  her  pale  lip  and  cheek,  and  heavy 
eyes ! 

And  Edith,  —  how  painfully  her 
heart  beat  and  her  limbs  trembled, 
as  she  looked  upon  the  wasted  fea- 
tures, the  burning  cheek,  the  glis- 
tening eyes,  the  broad,  marble-white 
brow  of  her  idolized  brother,  —  all 
telling  so  surely  of  intense  suffering 
and  approaching  death ! 

"  Come  nearer,  Edith.  Let  me  take 
my  fill  in  gazing  upon  your  sweet 
face.  I  told  you  I  was  hungry  for 
the  sight  of  you,  —  yes,  hungry,  starv- 
ing !  No  other  words  can  express  the 
intense  longing  I  have  had,  as  night 
after  night,  day  after  day,  I  have  laid 
here,  with  but  one  thought,  one 
wish,  one    prayer   ever   in   my  soul 


Frank's  death.  157 

and  on  my  lips,  — '  Father  in  heaven ! 
spare  me  till  Edie  comes,  that  I  may 
die  in  her  arms.'     I  knew  you  would 
come.     I  took  my  final  leave  of  all 
the   rest   that    last  night  at   home, 
knowing  we  should  meet   no  more 
this   side   of  heaven.     But  I  never 
relinquished    the    thought    of    see- 
ing   i/ou.     Something    told   me   we 
should  meet  again.     You  are  here ! 
and  now  I  shall  die  content.     Kiss 
me,  sister  !     Now  drop  the  curtain, 
and  sit  close  beside  me.    I  have  much 
to  say  and  must  talk  about  while  I 
have  strength." 

Wetting  his  parched  lips,  Edith 
closed  the  curtain,  and,  with  his 
hand  in  hers,  listened  in  silence  as 
he   gave   her  renewed  messages    of 


158  CEDAR  BROOK   STORIES. 

love  to  his  mother,  sisters,  Elliot, 
and  Gracie  Wentworth.  He  also' 
sent  an  earnest  request  to  Tom  Ryan 
that  he  would  attend  the  Sabbath 
school,  and  seek  religion  for  himself. 
"  I  think  he  has  changed  for  the 
better  since  Bennie's  death  ;  but  he 
is  still  far  from  living  as  he  ought. 
He  still  thinks  that  '  honesty '  is 
better  than  religion,  and  sees  no 
necessity  of  any  other  preparation  for 
eternity.  Interest  yourself  in  his 
behalf,  and  ask  Elliot  to  call  upon 
him  with  you.  There  is  but  little 
to  encourage  you,  I  know ;  but  do 
not  give  him  up  :  you  may  be  the 
means  of  leading  him  at  last  in  the 
right  path.  Coarse,  uneducated,  un- 
prepossessing as  he  is,  I  have  some 


159 

how  felt  a  deep  interest  in  him ;  and  I 
bequeath  to  you  that  care  of  his  spir- 
itual interest  that  I  am  called  upon 
now  to  relinquish.  Be  faithful,  and 
he  may  yet  be  added  to  those  who 
will  be  stars  in  your  crown  of  rejoic- 
ing in  the  day  when  God  shall  judge 
the  world.  In  that  great  day  we 
shall  find  many  souls  washed  and 
made  white  m  the  blood  of  the  Lamb 
who  have  been  taken  from  among 
the  poor,  the  outcast,  the  most  de- 
graded ;  and  they  will  stand,  per- 
haps, nearer  the  throne,  than  those 
wo  have  accounted  as  shining  lights 
in  the  world,  or  have  held  high  rank 
even  in  the  church  of  Christ  below.'* 
"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  Frank ; 
and  if  possible  will  fulfil  your  wishes 


160  CEDAR   BROOK   STORIES. 

Ill  regard  to  Tom  Ryan.  If  I  feel 
discouraged,  I  will  recall  your  words 
at  this  hour,  and  seek  for  renewed 
strength  to  persevere.  But  you  must 
converse  no  more  at  present.  I  am 
your  nurse,  and  shall  watch  with  you 
to-night ;  and,  in  virtue  of  my  office, 
shall  lay  my  commands  upon  you, 
and  prohibit,  your  speaking  again 
for  an  hour.  By-and-by  I  will  read 
you  a  few  verses,  if  you  are  able  to 
listen ;  but  for  the  present,  quiet  and 
rest  will  be  the  best  medicine.  Let 
me  smooth  your  pillow,  and  then  you 
must  try  to  sleep." 

Exhausted  from  talking,  Frank 
closed  his  eyes,  and  soon  sank  into 
an  unquiet  slumber,  —  often  starting 
and  looking  earnestly  at  Edith,   as 


161 

if  fearful  it  was  the  nurse,  and  not 
lier,  by  his  side,  or  that  his  memory 
of  her  presence  was  but  the  unreal 
phantom  of  a  feverish  dream.  At 
such  times  Edith  would  press  her 
lips  to  his  forehead,  and  grasp  his 
hand  more  firmly  in  hers,  till,  reas- 
sured, he  would  close  his  eyes  with 
a  sigh  of  relief,  murmuring,  "  Edie ! 
Edie  ! " 

The  nurse  and  Mrs.  Atherton  each 
looked  into  the  room,  and  urged 
Edith,  by  signs,  to  seek  some  rest, 
and  allow  them  to  take  her  place ; 
but  she  only  shook  her  head,  and 
motioned  to  be  left  alone. 

Two   hours    past   midnight;    and 

Frank  still  slept,  but  more  quietly. 

Edith  watched  every  feature,  trying 
11 


162  CEDAR   BROOK   STORIES, 

to  read  some  signs  of  hope  in  his 
sunken  face.  The  fever  flush  had 
passed  away,  and  a  deathly  paleness 
lay  upon  cheek  and  brow ;  but  still 
he  slept.  Would  he  wake  refreshed? 
Was  this  change  a  token  of  good,  or 
ill  1  Edith  could  not  tell.  She  had 
never  witnessed  death,  except  in  Ben- 
nie's  case ;  and  with  him  the  change 
was  only  from  paroxysms  of  extreme 
agony  to  long  fainting-fits — in  one 
of  which  he  passed  away. 

Three,  four  o'clock.  Edith  now 
became  alarmed ;  for  the  hand  rest- 
ing in  hers  was  cold,  his  forehead 
damp  with  moisture,  his  breath  slow 
and  labored.  Softly  loosing  his  hand, 
she  raised  the  gas,  and  bent  over 
him.    She  could  not  be  mistaken  ;  — 


163 

Frank  was  sinking  fast !  With  hur- 
ried step  she  crossed  the  entry,  and 
opened  the  door  of  her  father's  room. 
Mr.  Clifford  was  not  in  bed,  but 
dressed  and  sitting  by  the  window, 
his  head  resting  against  the  frame. 

He  had  fallen  into  a  light  slum- 
ber ;  but  Edith's  hurried  whisper, 
"  Father !  come !  —  Frank  is  dying  !  " 
aroused  him  in  an  instant ;  and  draw- 
ing her  arm  within  his,  he  hastened 
to  his  child. 

Frank  opened  his  eyes  as  they  en- 
tered, and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Father  !  —  Edith  !  I'm  going 
home.  Kiss  mother  for  me.  Say 
to  her,  death  had  no  terrors  for  her 
boy ;  all  is  joy,  —  joy  unspeakable 
and  full  of  glory  !     Hark  !  —  listen 


164  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

to  that  heavenly  music  !  —  see  those 
glorious  forms  !  Yes,  even  so,  come, 
Lord  Jesus,  come  !  " 

After  a  brief  silence  he  added, 
"  Raise  me,  Edie.  Lay  my  head  on 
your  bosom,  and  bend  your  face 
close  to  mine.  Let  me  look  at  you 
once  more.  Light !  —  more  light !  — 
1  cannot  see  you  Edie  !  "  and  the 
glazed  eyes  of  the  dying  boy  vainly 
sought  to  look  once  more  upon  his 
sister's  face. 

"  Lay  him  back  upon  the  pillow, 
my  dear  Edie,"  said  Mr.  Clifford,  his 
tears  dropping  upon  the  face  of  his 
dead  child.  "  Frank  is  at  rest  :  our 
tears  cannot  disturb  him  now.  Come 
to  my  arms,  Edith,  and  let  us  weep 
together  ;  but  not  in  nmrmuxing,  not 


Frank's  death.  165 

in    bitterness  ;    for  it  is  a    Father's 
voice  ihat  has  called  him  home,    a 
Father's  hand  that  has  removed  him 
from   us.     He    can    come   no   more 
to    us,    but   we    shall    go    to    him. 
'  Blessed  are  the   dead  who  die   in 
the  Lord;    for  they  rest  from  theii 
labors,   and   their  works   do  follow 
them.'      '  All    our    appointed   time 
will  we  wait,  till  our  change  comes.' 
May  we,  then,  be  as  ready  and  wil- 
ling to  depart  as  was  our  darling 
Frank,  —  as  willing  to  lay  aside  this 
our    earthly    tabernacle,   '  knowing 
we  have  a  building  of  God,  an  house 
not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the 
heavens.'      Go   to   your   room   now 
my  child,  for  an  hour's  rest,  while  I 
call  the  nurse  and  Mrs.  Atherton  to 


166      CEDAR  BROOK  STORIES. 

assist  me  in  performing  the  last  sad 
office  for  your  brother.  We  will 
make  every  arrangement  to  depart 
with  his  remains  in  the  first  train, 
for  home." 

Another  sad,  weeping  journey  for 
Edith, —  another  wearisome  counting 
of  the  slow,  tedious  hours !  How 
many,  many  journeys  like  this  have 
been  taken  by  the  wives,  mothers, 
and  sisters  of  our  land,  with  weeping 
eyes  and  bleeding  hearts,  as  they 
have  borne  to  their  darkened  homes 
the  sacred  remains  of  those  whose 
lives  have  been  sacrificed  in  this  the 
most  dreadful,  heart-sickening  war 
of  brother  with  brother  that  ever 
devastated  the  face  of  the  earth ! 
When  will  the  time  come  when  wars 


Frank's  death.  167 

shall  cease, — when  man  shall  love  his 
fellow-man,  —  when  all,  living  and 
acting  as  the  children  of  one  com- 
mon Father,  shall  learn  war  no  more; 
but  "  Peace  shall  fold  her  wings  o'er 
hill  and  valley,"  and  songs  and 
praise  shall  take  the  place  of  sorrow, 
sighing,  and  discord  1 

How  expressive  are  the  words  of 
that  old  Hebrew  dirge :  "  Mourn  for 
the  mourners,  and  not  go  for  the 
dead ;  for  they  are  at  rest,  but  we  in 
tears  !  " 

'Tis  even  so  in  this  our  country's 
hour  of  trial.  Our  tears  flow,  our 
soulb  sink  within  us,  as  we  receive, 
almost  daily,  tidings  of  those  who 
h^ve  fallen  on  the  battle-field.  But 
still  we  weep  far  bitterer  tears  over 


168  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

our  disappointed  hopes,  our  crushed 
hearts,  our  desolate  homes.  Thou- 
sands of  strong  arms,  and  brave, 
noble  hearts  are  lying  powerless 
and  still,  while  wakeful,  watching 
eyes  are  keeping  sad  virgils  in  the 
homes  that  will  know  them  no  more 
forever  ;  and  thousands  more  will  go 
forth  to  suffer,  bleed,  and  die,  ere  this 
cruel  strife  shall  end,  and  the  dark 
shadow  of  war  be  lifted  from  our 
midst. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


CONCLUSION. 


It  was  a  bleak,  cold  day  in  Janu- 
ary. Closely  wrapped  in  cloak  and 
furs,  Edith  was  just  entering  a  store 
in  Washington  street,  when  she 
heard  a  quick  step  behind  her,  and 
a  familiar  voice  exclaim  : 

"  Edith !  —  this  must  be  Edith  Clif- 
ford !  Surely  I  am  not  mistaken.  I 
should  know  that  face  anywhere !  " 

Turning  quickly,  Edith  in  an  in- 
stant recognized  her  Uncle  John, 
who  grasped  her  extended  hand  with 

hearty  warmth  as  he  repeated,    "  I 

169 


170  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

am  not  mistaken,  then]  I  knew  1 
could  not  be.  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  your  face  as  you  threw  aside  your 
veil,  and  felt  assm'ed  it  must  be  you, 
notwithstanding  you  were  a  mere 
child  when  I  saw  you  last.  How  are 
you  all  at  home  1  Your  mother — is 
she  living  still  1  " 

"  Yes,  uncle  ;  but  she  is  very 
feeble.  This  cold  weather  has  in- 
creased her  cough,  and  she  is  only 
able  to  sit  up  an  hour  or  two  during 
the  day.  Annie  never  leaves  her, 
and  I  only  go  from  home  when  it  is 
absolutely  necessary.  I  have  but  one 
errand  to  attend  to  for  Lulu,  and  if 
you  will  wait  for  me  we  will  return 
home  immediately.  Mother  was  say- 
ing, only  yesterday,  that  she  feared 


CONCLUSION.  171 

you  had  not  received  Aunt  Winnie's 
letter,  or  we  should  have  heard  from 
you  before  this." 

"  I  did  receive  it,  but  felt  so  anx- 
ious to  see  your  mother  once  more, 
that  I  concluded  to  come  myself,  in- 
stead of  writing." 

Seated  in  the  car,  Edith  made 
many  inquiries  after  her  aunt  and 
cousins,  and  also  of  their  pleasant 
prairie  home. 

"  Does  the  farm  look  as  it  did 
when  I  was  there,  —  have  you  made 
any  alterations  ]  " 

"  Our  house  looks  about  the  same, 
except  in  being  somewhat  improved 
by  a  few  coats  of  paint  and  a  new 
set  of  blinds.  But  the  old  sheds  are 
removed,  and  I  have  two  large  barns 


172  CEDAR    BROOK    STORIES. 

built  in  their  place.  A  broad  av- 
enue has  been  made  from  the  house 
to  the  road,  and  bordered  on  both 
sides  by  thrifty  trees.  The  flower- 
garden  has  been  enlarged  to  about 
twice  its  original  size,  and  is  fenced 
in  by  a  thick  hedge  of  Osage  orange. 
My  two  oldest  boys  are  married,  and 
settled  on  farms  of  their  own.  Ma- 
ry is  engaged  to  a  merchant  in  St. 
Louis,  and  Willie  and  Sue  will  soon 
be  the  only  children  left  at  home. 
They  are  all  anxious  to  see  you,  and 
sent  many  messages  of  love  and  ur- 
gent requests  that  you  would  visit 
them  again  soon." 

"  I  should  like  to  do  so,  but  can- 
not think  of  leaving  home  at  pres- 
ent.    Mother  is  so  feeble  that  I  feel 


CONCLUSION.  173 

uneasy  if  I  am  obliged  to  be  away 
from  her  for  only  a  few  hours." 

Uncle  John  was  greatly  overcome 
by  the  change  in  Mrs.  Clifford's  looks, 
and  felt,  with  Edith,  that  she  would 
not  live  to  see  another  spring.     He 
remained  at  Cedar  Brook   nearly  a 
week,— his  presence  a  source  of  com- 
fort and  support  to  them  all,  espe- 
cially to  Mr.  Clifford,  who  appeared 
much   broken  since   Frank's  death, 
and,  added  to  this,  his  anxiety  re- 
specting  the  failing   health   of  his 
wife. 

Elliot  was  a  constant  visitor,  and 
so  was  Grade,  who  was  almost  in- 
separable from  Lulu,  —  hardly  a  day 
passing  without  their  seeing  each 
other.     Mr.  Wentworth  and  his  wife 


174  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

often  came  in  of  an  evening,  and 
helped  divert  the  thoughts  of  Mr. 
Clifford  from  dwelling  too  much 
upon  his  loss. 

Mr.  Scarrett  did  not  long  survive 
his  "  boy,"  as  he  always  called  Frank. 
When  his  summons  came,  it  was 
sudden  and  without  pain.  He  was 
sitting  by  the  window,  watching  his 
wife  as  she  arranged  some  plants 
upon  a  flower-stand  near  him.  She 
asked  him  some  question  respecting 
one  of  the  plants,  but  he  made  her 
no  reply.  She  repeated  her  question, 
but  still  he  did  not  answer.  Some- 
what surprised  at  his  inattention, 
she  turned  to  ascertain  the  cause, 
when  she  saw  that  his  eyes  were 
fixed,  his  features  rigid,  and  his  fore- 


CONCLUSION.  175 

head  white  and  colorless  as  the  thin 
locks  that  rested  upon  it !  Gently, 
without  a  sigh  or  a  groan,  the  old 
man  had  passed  to  his  rest. 

A  few  days  after  Uncle  John  left 
Cedar  Brook,  Winnie  was  sitting  in 
her  own  room,  her  thoughts  busy 
with  the  changes  that  had  taken 
place  in  her  sister's  family  within  a 
few  months,  when  a  knock  at  the 
door  aroused  her  from  her  reverie. 
Answering  her  call,  "  Come  in  !  " 
Edith  entered,  closed  the  door,  and 
drawing  a  low  foot-stool  close  to 
Winnie,  laid  her  head  upon  her 
lap. 

"What  is  it,  Edie  ?"  Winnie 
asked,  as  she  stooped  to  kiss  Edith's 
flushed  cheek,  —  "  are  you  troubled  ? 


176  CEDAR   BROOK   STORIES. 

—  has  anything  occurred  to  annoy 
you  1     You  look  sad." 

"  I  feel  sad,  auntie ;  for  I  have  just 
returned  from  witnessing  a  scene  I 
shall  not  soon  forget.  I  have  been 
with  Elliot  this  afternoon  to  call 
upon  Tom  Ryan,  who  sent  me  word 
this  morning  that  he  was  very  anx- 
ious to  see  Elliot  and  myself.  After 
dinner  we  started  for  the  Point,  and 
found  Tom  at  home,  pacing  up  and 
down  his  room,  evidently  much  dis- 
turbed and  impatient  for  our  arrival. 
In  answer  to  Elliot's  inquiry  if  he 
were  sick  or  in  trouble,  he  replied : 

"'It's  not  for  myself  that  I'm  want- 
ing you,  —  I'm  well  enough,  and 
above-board — likely  to  keep  my  head 
out  of  water  for  some  time  yet ;  — 


CONCLUSION.  177 

but  I  want  your  help  for  a  poor,  mis- 
erable fellow  that,  to  all  appearance, 
is  near  his  end,  and  is  scared  to 
death  at  the  idea  of  his  ropes  being 
cut,  and  wants  some  one  to  pray  with 
him.  I'm  no  hand  at  such  business, 
and  he  says  he  wont  have  none  of 
your  ministers;  so  I  made  bold  to 
send  for  you  —  thinking  maybe  you'd 
be  willing  to  say  the  right  word  to 
the  poor  soul,  and  ease  him  off  a 
little  in  his  last  hour.' 

"  '  Who  is  he,  Tom  ?  and  where  is 
he '? '  I  asked. 

" '  His  name  is  Si  Short  —  Bennie 

Mead's  old  master;  and  he  is  in  an 

old  shanty  of  an  house  in  the  next 

street.     I  ran  foul  of  him  last  night, 

and  picked  him  up   out  of  a   cellar 
12 


178  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

he  had  tumbled  mto.  He  struck 
his  back  in  falling,  and  I  reckon  he 
broke  it,  for  he's  not  been  able  to 
move  since.  I  lifted  him  in  my  arms 
and  carried  him  to  a  house  near  by, 
and  then  went  for  a  doctor.  But  he 
didn't  stay  long.  He  said  he  could 
do  nothing  for  him,  —  the  fellow 
must  die ;  'twarnt  in  man  to  save  him. 
So  he  left  him  some  quieting-drops, 
and  went  home  again.  I  stayed 
with  the  old  reprobate  all  night, 
and  did  what  I  could  to  ease  him. 
But  he  screeched  and  screamed  and 
swore  till  I  was  most  crazed,  and 
couldn't  stand  it  any  longer ;  then 
I  sent  for  you.  He's  considerable 
quieter  now  ;  but  I  judge  from  his 
looks  that  he  wont  weather  it  long.* 


CONCLUSION.  179 

"  Rather  reluctantly  I  followed 
Tom  and  Elliot  to  a  miserable  look- 
ing dwelling,  filled  with  untidy, 
coarse-featured  women,  and  noisy, 
dirty  children.  Passing  by  three  or 
four  rooms,  occupied  by  as  many 
different  families,  we  followed  Tom 
up  a  dark,  broken  stairway,  through 
a  narrow  entry,  to  a  low,  back  cham- 
ber over  the  woodshed.  In  one  cor- 
ner, on  a  dirty  straw  bed,  covered 
with  a  ragged  patch-quilt,  lay  the 
most  hideous  looking  object  that  I 
ever  saw.  His  face  seemed  scarred 
and  defaced  by  the  traces  left  of 
every  evil  passion,  bloated  with  ha- 
bitual drunkenness,  and  distorted  by 
fierce  bodily  and  mental  agony. 

"  Involuntarily    I    turned    away, 


180  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

hardly  able  to  endure  the  sight. 
Tom  approached  the  bed,  and  said : 

" '  Look  here,  Si,  —  I've  brought  you 
some  one  at  last  ^vho  can  pray  with 
you.  You'd  better  take  my  advice, 
and  make  the  most  of  your  time. 
You'd  better,  too,  be  quiet  as  possi- 
ble ;  for  if  you  screech  and  swear  as 
you  did  last  night,  this  gentleman, 
wont  stand  any  such  gammon,  but 
will  leave  you  to  make  your  own 
prayers  and  die  alone.  Here,  —  take 
some  of  these  quieting-drops ;  and 
then  make  a  clean  breast,  and  tell 
the  gentleman  what  you  want.' 

"  Stepping  back,  Tom  placed  a  bro- 
ken chair  for  Elliot  beside  the  bed, 
handed  me  one,  and  then  took  his 
station  bv  the  door. 


CONCLUSION.  181 

"  Elliot  questioned  the  man  a  little 
respecting  his  past  life,  and  then 
endeavored  to  ascertain  what  was 
his  present  state  of  mind.  At  first 
he  refused  to  speak;  but  upon  Elliot's 
asking,  '  What  can  I  do  for  you '?  * 
he  almost  screamed : 

"  'Do  /  do  ! — why,  do  everi/thing  ! 
Cure  me ;  save  me  from  dying ;  pray 
to  the  Lord  for  me,  —  tell  him  I  must 
live !  I'll  promise  anything,  every- 
thing, if  he'll  only  let  me !  I'll  go  to 
church,  I'll  pray,  I'll  read  the  Bible, 
I'll  give  up  drink,  if  he'll  make  me 
live.  Just  tell  me  that  Til  live,  and 
I'll  crawl  on  my  knees  to  thank  you, 

—  I'll  be  your  servant,  your  slave  ; 
for  I  tell  you  Pm  not  ready  to  die, 

—  I  wont  die  I ' 


182      CEDAR  BROOK  STORIES. 

"  '  I  cannot  deceive  you,  sir,'  said 
Elliot,  in  a  firm  tone.  '  Your  hours 
are  numbered ;  and  I  pray  you  use 
the  little  time  allotted  to  you  in 
making  your  peace  with  God.  Seek 
pardon  through  Jesus  Christ ;  for  he 
is  ready  and  willing  to  save  to  the 
uttermost  all  that  come  unto  God  by 
him.  He  will  pardon  you  if  you  are 
penitent,  and  seek  in  sincerity  for 
forgiveness  of  your  past  sins.  His 
blood  alone  can  cleanse  you  and 
wipe  out  all  your  guilt.' 

"  '  I  can't  pray,  sir  ;  —  I  can't  ask 
pardon !  I  only  want  to  live, —  I  don't 
care  for  anything  else  !  Say  some- 
thing to  encourage  me.' 

" '  Let  me  repeat  a  few  passages 
from  the  Bible  as  an  encouragement 


CONCLUSION.  183 

for  you  to  pray, — words  of  encourage- 
ment to  the  vilest  sinner,  if  he  will 
only  give  right  heed  to  them,'  said 
Elliot,  repeating  many  precious  prom- 
ises ;  though  constantly  interrupted 
by  exclamations  of  impatience  and 
distress  from  the  wretched  man,  who 
seemed  perfectly  dead  to  every 
thought  and  wish  but  the  one  desire 
to  live,  even  though  that  life  might 
be  one  of  constant  suffering. 

"After  repeating  many  texts,  Elliot 
asked,  ^  Shall  I  pray  with  you  1 ' 

"  '  Yes,  you  may  pray,'  he  an- 
swered, impatiently ;  '  but  don't  pray 
for  anything  else  only  that  the  Lord 
will  spare  my  life.  I  can't  die  !  —  I 
wont  die ! ' 

"  I  shuddered  at  the  fierceness  with 


184      CEDAR  BROOK  STORIES. 

which  he  uttered  these  words,  and 
involuntarily  exclaimed,  '  Hush  !  sir. 
Your  life  is  in  God's  hands,  and 
you  must  soon  yield  it  up  to  him. 
Do  not  waste  your  few  precious 
moments  in  such  vain,  rebellious 
words ;  but  try  to  fly  to  Christ  for 
pardon  while  there  is  life  and  hope.' 

"  He  only  glared  at  me  and  ground 
his  teeth,  and  said,  '  Don't  talk  to 
me,  —  my  tongue's  my  own.  I  must 
live,  and  I  will  live  ! ' 

"  Elliot  kneeled  on  the  bare  floor, 
and  prayed  fervently  for  the  wretched, 
dying  man  ;  beseeching  God  to  have 
mercy  on  his  soul,  and  even  in  the 
eleventh  hour  to  show  his  pardoning 


CONCLUSION.  185 

mercy  in  the  salvation  of  that  poor, 
unhappy  sinner. 

"  I  heard  low  sobs  from  Tom  as 
he  stood  near  me,  with  his  hat  cov- 
ered over  his  face,  and  my  tears  fell 
fast  as,  in  heart,  I  united  with  Elliot 
in  his  supplications. 

"  "We  remained  but  a  short  time 
longer,  for  we  could  do  him  no  good. 
He  bade  us  leave  him,  saying  our 
presence  was  only  torture  to  him  — 
that  he  wished  to  be  alone  ;  and  if  he 
must  die,  would  not  have  us  there  to 
mock  him.  or  rejoice  over  his  agony. 

"  Tom  went  down  stau*s  to  the 
front  door  with  us,  shook  us  each  by 
the  hand,  thanked  us  warmly  for 
our  kindness,  and  then  returned  to 


18!'  CEDAR  BROOK   STORIES. 

the  dying  man  to  watch  by  him 
while  he  lived.  It  was  a  fearful 
scene,  auntie  ;  and  I  cannot  help  con- 
trasting it  with  Bonnie's  last  hours 
of  bodily  suffering,  but  most  peaceful 
death,  and  our  dear  Frank's  happy 
and  triumphant  one." 

"  I  do  not  wonder  at  it,  Edith. 
It  must  be  a  fearful  thing  to  die 
and  have  nought  to  look  back  upon 
but  a  sinful  life  unrepented  of,  — 
with  no  Saviour  to  lean  upon,  no  hope 
for  the  future,  no  light  beyond  the 
grave.  And  how  fearful  the  retri- 
bution that  often  overtakes  one,  even 
in  this  world,  for  a  life  of  disobe- 
dience and  sin  !  Si  Short's  cruel 
treatment  of  a  poor  orphan  child 
like  Bennie,  has  no  doubt  met  with 


CONCLUSION.  187 

a  righteous  punishment  in  his  own 
bodily  agonies  ;  and  his  violations  of 
the  laws  of  God,  in  the  still  greater 
agonies  of  his  soul  in  the  prospect 
of  death  and  an  eternity  beyond." 

"  And  yet,  auntie,  I  cannot  help 
asking  myself,  '  Who  hath  made  me 
to  differ  ?  Why  was  not  J  born 
in  poverty,  brought  up  in  ignorance, 
suffered  to  lead  a  life  of  crime  and 
degradation  like  him  1  AVhy  have 
I  had  Christian  parents,  who  early 
taught  me  to  read  and  love  the  Bible, 
to  pray,  to  seek  the  Saviour,  to  pre- 
pare for  eternity  '? '  Such  thoughts 
make  me  solemn,  —  make  me  feel 
more  earnest  to  live  as  I  ought.  May 
the  scene  I  have  witnessed  to-night 
be   a   lesson   to  me  to  be  up   and 


188  CEDAR   BROOK    STORIES. 

doing,  to  work  while  the  day  lasts, 
and  to  diligently  sow  that  good  seed 
which  shall  spring  up  and  bear  fruit 
to  life  eternal." 

With  such  purposes,  and  such 
wishes  for  a  life  of  piety  and  useful- 
ness, we  will  now  take  our  leave  of 
Edith  and  the  rest  of  our  young 
friends  at  Cedar  Brook.  May  the 
same  love  of  doing  good,  the  same 
simple,  unobtrusive  piety,  that  we 
trust  has  been  shown  in  the  life  of 
Frank  and  his  sisters  Annie  and 
Edith,  be  experienced  in  the  heart 
and  exhibited  in  the  lives  of  all  the 
young  readers  of  this  series.  And 
may  the  same  precious  Saviour  who 
was  the  trust  and  stay  of  Bennie 
and  Frank  in  their  last  hours,  be 


CONCLUSION.  189 

also  with  each  one  to  support  and 
strengthen  them  in  their  passage 
through  the  darksome  valley  ;  while 
angels  wait  around  to  convey  their 
departing  spirits  to  their  heavenly 
home.  Then,  in  the  sweet  words  of 
Bonner,  may  we  sing : 

"  None  wanting  yonder,  — 

Bought  by  the  Lamb  ! 
All  gathered  under 

The  evergreen  palm : 
Loud  as  night's  thunder 

Ascends  the  glad  psalm." 


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